Drag
by Pikachumaniac
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel is less than pleased with this development, to say the least. Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel.
1. Albel Nox

Title: Drag

Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel

Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.

Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.

Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.

Notes: Excuse equals 'I'm trying a new writing style'. Reality equals 'I'm obviously insane'. Anyway, in terms of the series, this takes place after the game, although I seem to be ignoring Albel's ending.

Many, many thanks to Sahara Storm for beta-ing. You're the best, darling.

_one_

He can't breathe.

He's not sure if it's because of the damn gag in his mouth—otherwise known as a rag suffering from severe delusions, and judging by the taste and its owner it was probably used to wipe a dragon's ass—or because his nose is broken. Probably both. Maybe even a bit of something else, as his ribs feel a bit broken. Considering how many times they've hit him, that's probably a given. He probably shouldn't have compared the guy's mother to mule shit, but thinking has never been his strong suit when he's angry.

Although that's not to imply that he's stupid because he isn't, really, despite what some people like to think. Strategy. Strategy, he can do. And he's known the best places to stab a person since he was six, at his mother's heartwarming insistence. But the sort of thinking one needs to do in order to keep his face from playing catch with incoming fists… that, he's never been quite as good at. Probably 'cause he's always been a little on the masochistic side, ever since he started using his arms as firewood for dragons.

But what he wants or doesn't want really isn't a consideration right now, so it doesn't really matter if his tongue is working faster than his brain. Not that it would make much of a difference even if he _did_ keep his mouth shut, as they seem to be taking some perverse pleasure from beating the shit out of him anyway despite the fact that he's actually been keeping quiet (although not by choice).

Maybe he's being punished for his existence again. Fate's—and Fayt, although it's common knowledge that the maggot is _not to be referred to by name_—been doing that for quite some time now, so why doesn't everyone else join in the fun too? Then again, he can't kill fate. He's tried, but the closest he got was to the creator of this pathetic universe, and look at the difference that made (i.e., none). But as for these weaklings? As soon as he's free, he's going to make sure they get well-acquainted with their intestines.

Then, as if someone heard that last thought, a fist slams into his gut, causing him to retch. The problem with that is that the bile's got no place to go so it just goes back the way it came from, choking him in the process. Bastards must be psychic or something, to know what he's thinking. Either that, or they have really good timing.

Unfortunately, bastard number one is also annoyingly observant, and rather than let him choke and die in peace, the gag's quickly removed and his traitorous body forces the bile right back up. It's somewhat irritated at all this indecision, having had to go up and down like that already, and in its spite it feels like his throat went right with it as he coughs it all out. Some blood has decided to join the festival, and to his utter delight a great quantity of the mixture lands on someone's shiny new shoe.

Cue the cursing and another knock to the head. It's still not enough to lay him out, but now that he's got his tongue working again it's really only a matter of time.

But the insults are slow to form—probably an effect of his brain rattling in his skull with a completely incomprehensible rhythm—and so he settles for laughing instead. It comes out almost like a demented witch cackle, but it's the best he can muster under the circumstances. For bonus points it has its intended effect, and it doesn't take long for the morons to start beating the shit out of him again.

The incompetent fools might actually manage it this time. Certainly would have taken them long enough. Distantly he could hear someone yelling for them to stop before they kill him—probably bastard number one, being the only one among them to possess something vaguely similar to a brain—but the bloodlust is up and it's one against six, him included. If that guy tries to 'save' him again he'll do something drastic, like bite off an eyeball.

He's done it before. Several times, actually, all in the past hour. He has also realized that eyeballs don't taste that good, but hey, he's willing to make a few sacrifices.

It's probably a little pathetic that he's getting killed by five idiots, especially since they wouldn't be anywhere near him if he was unrestrained. But he's gone through hell and back and then some, and since he's in no position to fight back they're going to have a free for all. A little pathetic? Make it a lot pathetic.

The upside of it all is that he's finding it rather difficult to care as he completely loses sense of what's even happening. He can hear a little yelling, a lot of cursing, and maybe even his own voice still laughing because _don't the maggots even realize that they're just giving him what he wants_?

After all, there's the fact that Vox obviously wants him somewhat alive, if that fool's screeching has any truth to it.

_Nothing_ makes Albel happier than pissing Vox off.

* * *

Woltar looks slightly horrified at his appearance as he's dragged into the old coot's room, still regretfully alive and annoyingly awake. He grins and earns another kick, but it's nothing new. He has a suspicion that he might be dying, considering his body's diminishing reactions to the various acts of brutality he's being subjected to, but it still hurts too much for him to consider caring. It's sorta ironic seeing how he's all for the dying part, except it's taking far too long.

Still, Woltar should have reacted better. The bastard's seen men cooked alive—what's a few cuts and bruises?

He finds himself planted in front of a mirror and gets a good look at himself. Ah. Alright, so maybe he does look a bit shitty.

"Vox." Woltar's hiss forces him to stop admiring his appearance. That, and the fact that Vox is now standing before them in all his grand delusional glory, looking rather a lot like a preening peacock who has just pecked a few rivals to death. Which is essentially what he is, minus the death thing. But again, that's really only a matter of time, and Albel tilts his head slightly—creating a chorus of shrieks of protest in the back of his mind, all of which are promptly ignored in the favor of insanity—to stare at the man. He looks good for someone who is dead, and Albel promises silently to remedy that as soon as his arm is in one piece again. Or maybe even two. He can manage it, and as he's debating exactly how many pieces his arm can be in and still allow him to lift a sword, Woltar continues, "How are you still alive?"

"Very carefully," Albel quips sweetly, but much to his annoyance, everyone ignores him. Woltar does spare him an exasperated look, but quickly turns his attention back to Vox. The man looks like he will explode if his pride causes him to swell any further, which would be fun to watch, albeit a bit messy.

"Or perhaps it does not even matter," Woltar amends, looking torn between glaring at Vox or Albel. Maybe if he crawls a bit closer to the bastard, Woltar won't hurt himself having to decide. But Woltar decides that this is the moment to prove that he's not senile and drooling yet, and focuses his attention on Vox. "What are you doing here?"

Vox blesses them with a mysterious smile. At least, that's what Albel assumes is going on since the smile just makes Vox look more idiotic than usual. He has a feeling that's not what the melodramatic moron is aiming for, although considering who he's talking about, there's always the possibility. Maybe Vox snapped in his revitalization. _Maybe Vox was always crazy_. He's been saying it for years, although nobody bothered to heed his words. At least now he'll be able to spend the rest of his life—however short that's going to be—saying 'I told you so'.

"Is that any way to treat an old comrade?" Vox asks as he brings the point of his sword to Woltar's neck. Albel nearly gags at the triteness of the question, and then really does when he earns his millionth blow to the stomach. Good thing most of what was in there is already gone, although his throat hurts like a bitch as a result. It makes him sound fucking raspy too, as if he's also been wheezing for eighty years.

"You were no comrade of mine," Woltar snaps, showing more bite than he's demonstrated in the whole of twenty-five years. "You're a mad, power-hungry fool, and that was what got you killed."

Ooh, harsh. Not nearly harsh enough, but it's _Woltar_. Can't expect much better out of him, except when he's using the legacy of Glou Nox against him.

"And you were always too soft-hearted," Vox replies, taking a moment to sigh dramatically. Albel watches the movement in fascination, taking the moment to enjoy the mental image of the Crimson Scourge going through that thick neck. It goes away all too quickly, returning him to a reality that has always been a constant disappointment. "We never should have surrendered to a bunch of goddess-worshiping bitches. Was that your idea too?"

For once they agree on something, but he can't admit to that. They're not allowed to agree on anything; it's a matter of principle.

Woltar flushes at the insult, and even the top of his head seems to turn a little pink. "If you were in my position, I doubt you would have acted differently."

"You're forgetting that Vox doesn't think, old man."

A foot slams down on his right hand, which oddly enough has yet to be broken. That's just been remedied, and it's only through a great show of strength that he doesn't start screaming. But logic actually has a say in it this time around, telling his vocal cords that screaming would just make it hurt more so there's really no point in giving Vox another reason to mock him.

"Stop that!" Woltar orders at the men who have been happily abusing him for the past day, although everyone knows the old man's orders mean shit in this situation. Perhaps less even, as shit usually can garner some sort of reaction. Woltar's just useless. The old man makes to move forward, but then the sword is still at his neck and Woltar remembers it before everything can go kersplat. He's helpless, just as helpless as Albel is except with less broken limbs involved. And then he remembers why he prefers Woltar to keep out of his business as one of the men decide to show exactly how useless Woltar's commands are by kicking him hard enough to send him flying. It's not a very far way to go, but the sudden stop as wall collides with his skull is more than mind-numbingly painful.

There goes some more blood. He can't have that much left anymore, right?

Vox laughs at this display. Albel can't tell if the bastard's amused with Woltar's idiocy or his agony, but maybe it's a combination of the two. It soon proves to be the least of his worries, unless he's hallucinating Vox turning back to Woltar and saying, "Don't worry, Woltar. I won't kill him yet. But you, on the other hand…" He lets the sentence drift into a dramatic pause. Again, Albel resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. If he does that, at least he won't have to be awake to listen to this parade of clichés.

"I'll kill you."

Gaping silence follows this bold proclamation, or as bold as it can be when it comes out barely above a strangled rasp. It takes him a moment to figure out who said that, even though the words came out of his own mouth. There's no way in hell it could really be _him_, could it? But his mouth is still moving and the words are spilling out and _what the fuck is wrong with him?_ "Fucking bastard. I don't care how you survived, but I'll make sure to throw your rotting corpse back into hell. But then that's why you're here, isn't it? Hell couldn't stand you and spat you back out so we'd have to deal with your sorry existence again. Perhaps if I cut off your tongue, they'll be more receptive? Cut off your face too, so you'll stop scaring the demons. Maybe then-"

He's surprised that he got as far as he did, and then there's nothing but pain and agony and pain _and agony _and soon he knows there will be nothing. But the combination of all these things is still not as bad as his arm burning off and Glou Nox dying because of his utter incompetence because _nothing_ hurt as bad as that.

Although at this rate he might have to amend that statement just a little bit.

"Stop it!" Woltar sounds like a sheep, bleating words that don't even make a difference and never will. "Stop it, you'll kill him!"

_Relax_, he wants to snarl except it's impossible to get a coherent word out now. He does feel a little happier that Woltar apparently cares about him. For a moment there he was worried that Woltar was just worrying about his carpet. Expensive shit it was, although it's worth nil now that it's covered in blood. Anyway, the sentiment, useless as it is, justifies his stupidity, although Woltar is wasting it. Doesn't the old man get it, or is he really that senile? He could use this moment to do something productive, like getting a sword or getting a mace or just _getting the hell away_ instead of standing there screaming like a mother hen. What's the point of Albel distracting them if the fool doesn't do anything with it?

There's also the somewhat disturbing thought that he's becoming soft. He'd never have done something like this before _them_. Shit. The damn maggots have made him soft. He'll kill them all the next time he saw them, which at this rate will be never.

"That's enough." Vox's voice is soft and he can barely hear it over his own wheezing, but suddenly they've stopped and they're parting like Vox is a god in their presence. Considering their pathetic hero-worship, maybe that's what he really is to them.

He hates to admit it, but he has no insults to offer up. In fact, nothing comes out except a gurgle of blood when Vox grabs him by the chain of his collar and forces his mouth open. With absolutely no explanation, a bit out of character for an egotistical megalomaniac who enjoys monologuing as much as the next worm, Vox sticks some liquid down his throat and he's so surprised to discover that it's sweet that he automatically swallows it instead of trying to choke on it and die. Which was probably not the best idea ever, but it wasn't exactly by choice.

He doesn't know what the thing is, although it can't be worse than those damn tears of whatever that Fayt kept throwing at him during battles. And surprisingly, it's not. Everything becomes foggy and he wonders if this is what death feels like, except he's still bizarrely aware of his surroundings. He can even feel as his gauntlet is removed although he's in no position to fight it, and in the very far distance he can hear Woltar dying. And there's the smell of blood. Not his, for a change. Then the thump of a body landing on the ground, another of a head landing. He can see it clearly, but he's just not comprehending.

Woltar's staring at him. _It's_ staring at him. Because it's no longer Woltar but just a head, really, although it has his face and his eyes and his blood that is leaking onto the now definitely worthless carpet. And as horrific as it is, as painful as it is to lose _another_ person right before his eyes because he couldn't do anything to stop it, he can't bring himself to care because suddenly something is happening and he doesn't know what. Nobody's really paying attention to him anymore, probably too busy congratulating Vox on killing a defenseless old man, but that's all about to change as he throws his head back and screams his bloody lungs out.

End Notes:

The story is technically done at seventeen chapters, but the last chapters still need to be beta-ed and edited. I figure I'll update once a week, which will give my beta and I at least three months to get through those last few chapters (and considering that last chapter, it might be very necessary...), and everything should be set.


	2. Arzei Bohnleid

Title: Drag

Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel

Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.

Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.

Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.

Notes: Not too much to say here, except maybe to say that each chapter is written in a particular character's perspective. I could say that it's so we can get a more 'in-depth' look at someone's thought process, but I think it's really just 'cause I totally forgot how to write in any other way… eep.

Oh, and this is the chapter where everything starts to go to hell in a hand basket. AKA, why there's a rating for 'weird shit'. Although on a completely different topic, I am wondering if I should have made it clear that it's one-sided Vox x Albel. Hmm...

And again, many thanks to Sahara-sweetie. And to the reviewers as well, for enduring this mess.

_two_

He has not even had time to mourn before he finds himself dealing with a rather complicated situation.

There is something about seeing one's wife and son killed only moments before that makes it hard to think as clearly as one should, but he somehow manages to keep a calm expression as Vox enters the throne room with an air of victory that is painfully deserved. The man behind him is carrying Count Woltar's head, and it takes everything in him not to flinch at the loss of one of his most important allies. He cannot let his face show too much concern though, although he wants nothing more than to turn away from the sight. He knows already that his nightmares will be haunting him for months, if he gets to live that long.

Even without the image of Woltar's head, there is the chorus of shrieks that remain in the back of his head. They're the sounds of Rozaria being cut down, and their son following the same path shortly after. He was barely six months old and his life has already been so quickly snatched away, although at least his death had been quick. Rozaria's death had been slow and ugly, and he had not been able to do anything to ease her passing. He had not even been there to witness it, escorted out of the bedroom before she was completely gone. The heavy door had muffled the sounds, but there was no way to completely block her death screams.

There probably never will be.

He should have mourned. He should have been sad. But he cannot even muster up anger as he watches his uncle stand before him, a sort of deadness overruling the majority of his emotions at the moment. Or maybe not deadness, but simply practicality. He cannot deal with Duke Vox if his mind is shattered; breakdowns will simply have to wait until after negotiations.

Negotiation is a kind way of putting it. Usually negotiation with Vox involved a certain 'shut up, listen, and do everything I say' mentality, which is really the opposite of negotiation if one stops to think about it. But Vox often seemed to inspire a lack of thinking, which might explain a lot of things about the way the war had ended up, and perhaps the madness of what is happening now. After all, the man is supposed to be dead, blown to bits by an alien force, but he seems remarkably spry all things considered.

Arzei Bohnleid has never hated him more.

"Vox," he manages to get out with enough courtesy to make his etiquette teacher proud. Then again, his etiquette teacher had always been chasing skirts, so perhaps that is really not much of a compliment. Anyway, there is a pause as he tries to figure out the best question to ask. It seems a waste to ask Vox why he is still alive because the fact of the matter is that he is, and what is the point of wondering about it? Arzei has always been a practical man, and he doesn't think it wise to waste his words right now. He can ask Vox what he is doing but it seems obvious enough, and besides that he does not really know what else to say or ask.

It turns out not to matter much; he is spared the task of asking when Vox gives him that nasty little smile which patronized him when he was young and continues to patronize him to this day. It really is not fair considering how the man should be dead, but it seems that even the dead have rights that the living cannot question.

"Your majesty." The words are mocking but he is in no position to point them out as such. In fact, he's not in much of a position to do anything but stare, although staring is still marginally better than any of the other things he wants to do right now. "It is good to see you again."

"I cannot return the sentiment," he replies flatly. "What do you want?" It seems reasonable to just get to the point, rather than have to listen to Vox flaunt his victory. But knowing his uncle, he does not really have much of a choice in the matter, although it does not stop him from attempting to lessen the blow as much as he can.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Enlighten me." He needs to hear something right now. He needs to hear _anything_ to forget, for a single second, the last gasp of a dying woman.

"I wish to finish what we started, _nephew_," Vox says, putting an emphasis on that last word. He slips and grimaces, but recovers quickly.

"You refer to the war with Aquaria, I assume," he says.

Vox smiles, "You always were quite bright."

It is as close to a compliment as he will be receiving, but he does not think he needs compliments from a madman anyway. The problem with that is that Vox is not quite mad, but rather ruthlessly tenacious. Once he latches onto a plan there is no letting go, and it should not seem at all surprising that the man will return from the dead simply for the pleasure of finishing his war.

He closes his eyes and tries to think, but what is there to think about anyway? What Vox wants is what he will get right now, unless he has a hidden trump card. But Vox has tact and he doubts any such thing exists. Woltar is dead, and although Albel Nox is still presumably alive because his head is not likewise rolling around on the carpet, Arzei doubts the young captain will be in any position to act. Knowing Vox, his uncle has tied up all the loose ends, and that is surely what Albel is.

"There are… other considerations as well," Vox suddenly says, and he looks over at him slowly. There is no need to ask what those 'other considerations' are; his uncle will not keep him in suspense for long, he thinks.

Vox opens his mouth to continue, but before he can there is a high-pitched shriek from outside the door. At first he thinks that it's a maid who has found some of the bodies—which granted, Arzei does not know actually exists but considering Vox's temperament it's hard to imagine otherwise—but there is something strangely familiar about that voice. There is also the matter of the curses being issued. The castle servants were always very respectful, and he had never seen any of them curse even during that incident with the dragon dung. Anyway, there is only one person who has such an extensive vocabulary, and the fact that certain familiar catchphrases are being thrown in every four words is another clue as to whom the interrupter is.

The door slams open with a bang, and Albel Nox comes flying through in a rush of violet cloth and pale skin, two guards on his heels. The captain of the Black Brigade is screaming curses as he rushes at Vox with a definite intent to kill, only to be finally restrained by the men protecting the duke before he can even get within ten feet.

"I'll kill you!" Albel screams, his voice higher-pitched than normal yet softer all the same, although the screaming masks that to the point that Arzei has to do a double-take. "I'll kill you, you fucking bastard! What the hell did you do to me?! You fucking, fucking _bastard_!"

Arzei is about to ask exactly what is going on, but then he gets a better view of Albel and not only is he instantly distracted from the death of his loved ones, but he believes there is going to be a little mental scarring involved too.

Surprisingly enough, the first thing he notices is… no, not _that_, but the fact that Albel's left arm is perfectly intact. Where there should have been the metal claw or at the very least a scarred stump, there is instead smooth, perfect skin leading down to what would be an equally perfect hand if it was not currently clenched so tightly that blood is dripping to the ground from where nails have broken skin. Arzei is so amazed by this change that it takes him a moment more to realize that the arm is connected to a body that is rather different, and that the badly ripped top is revealing more than just a chest, or really more than a man's chest because men do not have breasts and _he is not looking there anymore_.

If Albel is at all embarrassed at being so exposed, he does not show it. He does not even seem to notice it, nor the fact that he is in the presence of his king, although Arzei is under the impression that he does not hold that title any longer. Besides, considering Albel's personality, he doubts that the captain will hold back even if he realized that Airyglyph XIII was watching his every move.

Considering how it is three on one, Albel is holding up rather well as he snarls and tries to eviscerate one of the men holding him back. He comes pretty close but not close enough, and upon recognizing his failure, turns his anger back to Vox whose nasty smile has risen in intensity twofold.

"What the hell did you give me?!" The smile is now at threefold, and Albel screams in rage. "Answer me, you fool! _What the fuck did you do_?!"

"I would think it obvious, Nox," Vox replies pleasantly, causing the younger man-now-woman to bristle. "The potion I gave you is a new invention. It heals wounds—even old ones—at remarkable speeds, but as you can tell it has an interesting… side effect."

"Side effect?!" Albel spits back. "You wanted this, didn't you? Bastard. No matter. I'll still kill you!" With those words, Albel launches her-_him_self at Vox again, only to be dragged back by the guards. "Tell your fucking dogs to let go, Vox! Or are you scared that I'll kill you with my bare hands?!"

"You should be grateful. It's thanks to me that you have more than one now."

Albel responds with a furious litany of opinions on Vox's manliness, and Arzei finds himself struck with the disturbing urge to laugh. It is really not that funny. His wife and son are dead, his mentor's head is lying on the floor, and his other captain is now a woman. This was not to imply that he has anything against women, but Albel was originally a man and sudden changes such as this were simply not desirable in any gender. Still, he had wished for something to help quiet the demons in his head, but this as a distraction is so insane that he is not sure what to do anymore. All signs of coherency have simply gone away, and he knows for a fact that they will not be coming back for a very, very long time.

Vox is not of the same opinion, however. The insults are starting to get to him, evidenced by a slight flush as Albel proceeds to insinuate—and not in a very subtle manner—exactly what Vox had to do in order to pass the Accession of the Flame ceremony, and it was not by actually defeating the dragon but rather, "The only way you could get it to obey you was by fucking it, wasn't it?!" Enough is enough, and Vox steps forward in quiet fury but Albel does not seem to care as he starts getting more detailed. A part of Arzei wonders if the captain is enjoying this, and considering Albel's rather disturbing personality it is more than a possibility.

But he should have been paying more attention. Vox gestures at the guards to let go, and Albel is so surprised by the motion that he fails to take advantage of his sudden freedom. The split-second hesitation is enough for Vox to backhand him, stunning Albel long enough that Vox can grab the newly restored left arm to throw him against the wall. A second later Vox is pinning the thin body to the wall with his own before Albel can recover, something that is going to take a few more moments considering how dazed that captain looks. But as soon as he has Albel snarls and starts to struggle against the weight even though the feeling of rough armor cannot be comfortable against bare skin, especially considering the new additions. It goes without saying that Albel is hopelessly outmatched. Albel's advantage, after all, has always been more in speed and skill than brute strength, the latter of which he sorely lacks compared to Vox. Surrendering was never a word in Albel's vocabulary though, and the curses continue to rain down until Vox covers Albel's mouth so that the words are now muffled.

"Know this, Albel Nox," Vox says darkly, even as Albel tries to gnaw at his hand, "you are no longer in control of your fate, and it might do you well to remember that before you insult me."

The insolent glare is response enough to what Albel thinks of that, and Vox's expression darkens. But Arzei, tired of watching Vox flaunt his superiority, decides to takes matters into his own hands by asking, "What is the point of this, Vox? I understand your ambitions with the war and the kingdom of Aquaria, but what could have possessed you to do something like… this to one of your fellow captains?"

Never mind the fact that Vox had already killed one of his 'fellow captains'. That was beside the point, although it does beg the question of why Vox had not simply done the same to Albel instead of doing something so insane.

His question hangs over the two as Albel and Vox glare at each other. Finally, Vox snorts and pulls back, hands reaching down to restrain Albel's wrists before letting up. Albel has no choice but to stumble after him as Vox steps towards Arzei instead, dragging Albel with him.

Albel remains silent for the moment, at least, perhaps finally aware that his king is standing before him. The more likely explanation though is that he has simply run out of insults for the moment, or perhaps it is something else. He seems more stiff in his movements than before, and Arzei is fairly certain that this is not only from any pain that Vox might have caused him.

"Perhaps it was simply to teach him his place," Vox says coldly. Albel looks ready to explode in another series of insults, but manages to hold his tongue as Vox looks him over. "It is funny how you look no different as a woman than a man, Nox. Although now you can't go spreading your legs to anyone like a common whore. Is that how you kept your men in check for all those years, even though they never truly looked to you as a captain?"

"Why you-"

"Albel!" Arzei interrupts sharply, and to his utmost surprise Albel actually listens. Well, it had to happen eventually, he thinks grimly as he turns his attention back to Vox. "You have made your point then. Or is there something else?"

"Perhaps," Vox purrs, and everyone knows that this is the moment he has been waiting for. "We will work out the plans for the control of this kingdom later. You will continue ruling as a figurehead only. I will be telling you what to do. My first proclamation, of course, will be the abolition of this… peace, and the declaration that the war will be resumed from where we left off. And my second order is to ready the palace staff for a wedding."

"A wedding?" Arzei blinks, completely thrown off by this sudden… change in topic. "But to whom-?"

He does not need to finish that thought as Albel comes to the same realization at the same exact time and shrieks, "_What_?!"

"Why?!" he asks, or really he sputters it because really he is in just as much shock as Albel is, and he is not even the one who is getting married.

"Because the Nox family is one of the only remaining noble families left," Vox explains simply, as if this all should have been obvious. "After you exiled most of the others, Glou Nox was one of the few who kept his titles and standing. His heir is privy to the power that was given up by those other families, even if this young idiot never bothered to take advantage of those things."

Albel spits on the ground before hissing, "I would rather die than marry you, Vox."

"I know," is the cold reply as Vox smirks slightly. "I know that very well, Nox, but that is no longer your choice, is it?"

"I'll **kill** you."

"You've already said as much quite a few times, although I have yet to see you even try, let alone come close to succeeding. But you are still welcome to continue in your endeavors, my lady." At that Albel snarls, but he is unable to do much else as Vox continues, "You _will_ learn to accept that your place is beneath me, Nox. Even if I have to resort to more crude methods to prove this to you."

End Notes:

Just as a note, the real reason why I chose to write this fic was to write that scene where Arzei is trying his best not to laugh at the situation. It's sad how very, very serious I am when I say that.

I am fairly certain I will update every Sunday, unless something happens so that I can't reach my computer (or stops working...). I don't think that will be a problem though, although here's to hoping anyway!

PM


	3. Nel Zelpher

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: And we get something that sorta resembles plot in this chapter. No, seriously.

Many thanks to Sahara-sweetie for beta-ing this despite having to get crash course 101 in Star Ocean basics from me when I am not very coherent at explaining things, and thanks to readers and reviewers. I hope I haven't traumatized anyone too much...

_three_

The reports have been coming in for some time now, the result being that Nel Zelpher is more than ready when she receives the summons from the queen. She is in the throne room in a matter of minutes, kneeling before Aquaria XXVII and Magistrate Lasselle, and she is not surprised to see that both are wearing identically grim expressions. There is no need to ask why or what she is doing here, so instead she stays quiet and waits to see exactly what the two need to know.

"We have here a missive from the king of Airyglyph," Lasselle begins the meeting briskly, tossing the parchment to Nel so that she can read it for herself. He would never have been this informal before, but the circumstances are significantly different now. There is no time for those empty rules of proper etiquette when their country is on the brink of war, a war that they are most certainly unprepared for. "He remains as king but only in title. His uncle, Duke Vox, now wields the ruling power. I do not suppose you will have any idea of how he could have survived the attack of the celestial ships?"

"No, I do not," she replies as she pulls the letter open. A quick skim of the contents is all she needs; she knows what is within. The missive itself is short and to the point, but chilling in its message. War has been declared, to be immediately in effect. Aquarian citizens who remained in Airyglyph would be immediately killed. Although she had heard all this before, it is another matter entirely to read it for herself. When before she had harbored disbelief, now she cannot deny that war is upon them once again, only a year after peace had finally been achieved. She suppresses a shiver and looks back up. "There is no way he could have survived that blast, according to Fayt Leingod and Maria Traydor. Besides, while we were escorting her majesty to the Mosel Ruins, I had Farleen and Tynave search the area for possible survivors. They found nothing to indicate that anyone had survived, including Duke Vox."

"It does not really matter how he survived," Aquaria XXVII says simply. "It is a fact that he has. What news have you heard from your people? I have heard grave things already, but I had hoped that they might be rumor."

Nel shakes her head, even though she wishes that she could be in denial of those same truths. But fact is fact, whether or not she likes it, and it seems better to accept what she knows to be true than to labor under the delusion of otherwise. She is much too practical to keep on hoping for things that are so obviously out of her reach.

"I am afraid you will be disappointed, your majesty. Rozaria and her son are dead, and countless others as well. Our people who were living peaceful lives in Airyglyph were given no warning, and many were killed by Vox's men before they realized what was happening. When the proclamation of war finally did go out, many who tried to flee were also killed before they could reach Aquaria. The majority has managed to reach safety without loss of life, but it is not nearly as many as we could have hoped for.

"As for the people of Airyglyph that we know of, Count Woltar is dead. It is said that he was killed personally by Duke Vox, and his head given to the king. Airyglyph XIII is unharmed, but in distress over the recent happenings. Little has been heard or seen of him. It seems that Vox keeps him confined to a few rooms of the castle, and handles most matters by himself. Of Albel Nox, there is currently no word. He was with Woltar at the time of the count's death, but that was all the information I managed to gather. Since there is no indication that he is dead, I believe Nox is most likely being held prisoner."

"What of their military?" Lasselle demands. "How is it that it could have completely lost its loyalty to the king?"

"Much of their military forces were dismantled, as stipulated by the peace treaty," Aquaria XXVII intervenes. "It would not be so difficult to remove them from the picture."

Nel nods, "Although they were all maintained, the three branches had their numbers drastically reduced, with the exception of the Dragon Brigade, as it was impractical for the dragons to simply be released. Many of those men maintained a loyalty to Vox more than the king himself. Besides, Vox does have a blood right to the throne, as he is the king's uncle. Also, many of them were not pleased with the peace, and were more than happy to turn to Vox."

There is no need to mention the other obvious fact. Quite a few of the military men, whatever division they were in, had not been at all pleased with the peace. It was not a leap of imagination to think that it was not only those in the Dragon Brigade who would join with Vox, and it might explain how the man was able to amass so many men. Many of them were probably those who had been cut loose from the military when it had lowered its numbers, and their bloodlust was not yet gone. After all, Elicoor had been subject to many wars throughout the years, and for those who were dependent on the wars for a livelihood, perhaps it is understandable why they would wish to return to such a state.

Lasselle sighs, "It seems almost impossible that we could have reached this point. The marriage of the king to Rozaria should have made this peace more lasting, but no one could have anticipated anything like this happening."

"No," Aquaria agrees, her expression troubled. But everything about this situation is troubling, to say the least, and Nel only wishes she had some information that could make this a little easier. Although it seems that really, the only thing that could do that is to say that none of this is actually happening. "I am not sure how we should react to this sudden change. The previous war had, at least, given us time to prepare before the actual battles began. But it seems that they are more prepared than we are now, and judging by their actions, they will give us no time to prepare."

"Indeed. But Zelpher," Lasselle returns his attention back to Nel. "I have heard rumors that soon Vox is to be wed to one of the only remaining noble families of Airyglyph. This is a minor consideration compared to everything else, but it is still one that I believe we should look into. I have heard that the family in question is none other than the Nox family, but to my knowledge there is only one surviving member of that family. _If_ he even lives."

She does not even have to clarify on that, knowing exactly what Lasselle is trying to say without just… well, saying it. She has heard these rumors as well, but decided that there could not be any truth in them. After all, she knows for a fact that Nox truly is the only member of his family left. It was not that he talked about such things on their journey, but it was information she had picked up long ago when they were still enemies. Albel's mother had died when he was a child, and his father had died during the failed Accession of the Flame ceremony. He had been an only child of only children, ruling out the possibility of cousins. There could be, she supposes, members even more distant from the main family tree, but usually such people were not considered to be a part of the noble family by any stretch of the imagination.

"I have heard these same rumors, but they cannot be true," Nel says finally, and endeavors to make her point as clear as possible. "Albel Nox is the sole member of his family line. Perhaps the rumors are mistaken on which family it is." Because really, unless the impossible has happened, there is no way Albel Nox can be marrying Vox, especially considering their history. Vox was the one to accuse Nox of treason before the battle in the Kirlsa Hills. Not to mention the fact that Albel is, despite his awful fashion sense and partiality for purple underwear, still very much a man, and she somehow doubts that by marriage Vox is saying that he will be wed to another man.

"Will you be sending one of your people to Airyglyph?" Aquaria asks, shaking her out of her justifications, and to this question, Nel shakes her head. It is something she has been expecting for a while, but has already decided the answer of even before entering the throne room.

"I will be going myself. It will be dangerous, and I think it will be easier to simply take this mission on my own. I know the area better than any of my people, and I still have some connections within the castle that may be of use."

What goes unsaid, she supposes, is the fact that she does have a personal interest in this. She should not, and she knows it may cloud her judgment. If it was anyone else, she would have reprimanded them and sent someone else. But although she knows that it really is not, this situation feels different from those others where personal feelings would compromise logic… although technically she knows that she is really just justifying things to herself. Still, considering what has been happening, she cannot simply send someone else to take this mission when so much is at stake. Rozaria was her friend, and her death has hit Nel hard. It hurts to realize that she is gone, as well as her child who only days ago Nel had planned on visiting to finally act on her duties as godmother five months late. Airyglyph XIII had also become a friend even if he remained formally distant, but Nel came to appreciate him when she saw how happy he made Rozaria.

And she finds herself mourning for people most unexpected. Although she had found it difficult to respect her father's murderer, it does not change the fact that Count Woltar had still been a man worthy of that regard. She finds no joy in his death, and will do whatever it takes to bring down Vox for killing him in cold blood.

As for Albel Nox… truthfully she is concerned for his well-being, even though he would probably berate her for such a thing. Nox is not a friend but he was an ally, and he had stood by her side when they had faced the creator. He was rude and arrogant, but that does not change the fact that she still thinks well of him. Not fondly, of course, but although she tries not to openly admit it, their time together has created some sort of sense of comradeship. It is nothing much really, but it is worth a greeting or two when she is in Kirlsa even though he never replies favorably. But he does respond, and she knows that is in itself is acknowledgement.

Besides, considering how the rumors are surrounding his family, he seems to be in the best position to respond to them. The only problem is that she does not know where he is, and she had no idea of where to start either.

But those are only minor problems compared to what they may be facing soon. She has had such impossible tasks before, and she will face them as she did before.

"When will you be leaving?" Lasselle asks, a frown on his face. He too, probably knows what she is thinking, and she doubts he is very pleased. He has never been fond of Airyglyph despite the peace, but it is a testament to his abilities that he is able to act fairly despite his own prejudices.

"Today, I think." And how long ago has she decided all of this? Well, she must still keep up appearances, and try to act as if she does not have a personal stake in this. Although such things are easier said than done…. "It will be easier to slip in before they have had time to tighten security."

"Then it is decided," Lasselle says, looking rather like he is starting to suffer from a headache. If they are lucky, a headache is all this will be, but she doubts that such will be the case. Things are moving much too quickly, and Nel is unsure if they can act quickly enough to prevent complete annihilation. She is not sure what Vox's goals are, but while Airyglyph XIII had plans with the conquered lands, she does not think that Vox is much the same way. He may be looking for nothing but slaughter, and that may be what terrifies her more about this war than the last. She is not the only one to be thinking this way, as Lasselle continues with a tight smile, "I wish it could be otherwise, but it looks like Vox is giving us little choice in the matter."

"Then I shall be on my way." With these words she stands, bowing quickly to the queen.

The queen returns the gesture with a nod. "Thank you for your work, Nel. May Apris guide you in your path."

* * *

She has not yet reached her room when one of the maids comes flying down the hallway, looking terrified. Actually, that is a bit of an understatement—the poor girl looks like she has seen a ghost, and Nel immediately has a feeling she knows what is going on, especially when the girl spots her. Relief immediately blossoms on her pale face as the maid begins to blabber semi-coherently, "I was cleaning your room when there was this terrible noise coming from your desk, and when I went to see what was causing the commotion there was this person's _face_ in it and he was talking and he demanded to see you but-" 

Nel sighs, which is moderately better than an outright groan. That's almost what she does because she knows exactly who it is, and she has absolutely no interest in dealing with him right now. But if she avoids it he will probably think that something is wrong—which is more or less true, but this is not clearly _not_ his problem—and come flying down here only to end up in the middle of a war. And really, the last thing any of them needs is for Cliff Fittir to get involved because knowing the man, he might just end up making everything more complicated than it already is.

Noticing that the maid looks confused by her reaction, she forces a reassuring smile onto her face before saying quickly, "Don't worry about it." She does not bother to explain further as she does not really know how to anyway. Although she spent a few weeks on one of those celestial ships, she is no closer to understanding the technology than a porcupine is to sprouting wings and flying through space. She knows enough to operate the communicator they had given her but not much else, and right now she just wishes she could figure out a way to permanently turn it off….

As soon as she enters the room she can hear Cliff humming. She doesn't know what the song is but she has a feeling it's probably off-key because Maria always winces when in hearing range of Cliff's musical skills. It does not take her long to locate the communicator, and as soon as she is within view the humming immediately stops and she's greeted by an obnoxious grin.

"Hello Cliff," she says, quickly screwing a smile into place. She doesn't want to give the wrong impression, after all, especially at a time like this.

"Yo, Nel," Cliff grins back at her, apparently oblivious to the fact that she _really_ does not want to deal with this right now. But maybe that is really her own fault for not telling him straight out. If he really wants to know what is going on with Albel Nox, why doesn't he just ask the man himself instead of using a go-between? It's not like she is going to search for the guy and pass messages. They're not teenagers—they're responsible adults and can communicate as such. Still, now is not the time to suggest such a thing because even she does not know where Albel is, and Cliff really does not need to know that right now. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," she lies, hating herself for it but reminding herself that this is for the greater good. It isn't just that she doesn't want Cliff to get involved; he shouldn't have to. What happens on Elicoor should be solved by them, and although it would be nice to have the celestial ships come and try to blast Vox into pieces again, it is not something she can just ask of them.

Although the very thought is starting to become painfully tempting, as shameful as that is.

"I'm thinking of coming down for a visit," Cliff suddenly says, and it takes everything for her not to immediately whiten. It seems that everything is just happening at once right now, and she is starting to get really irritated with fate for dumping it all in her lap. She isn't usually the type to complain, but this just isn't _fair_. "What do you think about that? I could round up the whole gang, and we can just pop over for a visit."

"Do you really think you can do that?" she tries to keep her voice enthusiastic, but it sounds dull even to her. Luckily, Cliff seems so intent on his plans that he fails to notice her utter lack of enthusiasm. "After all, I thought that Sophia was busy with school and Mirage-"

He laughs, "Okay, you got me. It might just be me, but I've got a hunch that I might be able to get them to come along too. If that's okay with you, of course."

He's giving her an opportunity to say 'no', but she knows she cannot. Not really, anyway. So instead, she takes the coward's way out and changes the subject in a desperate bid to dissuade him, even if it is by being cruel. But in a way, she's reached her breaking point. She does not want to be in the middle of what could be a love quarrel, although knowing Nox it's probably something more psychotic. Anything involving that man cannot possibly make sense. "Why don't you just say it?"

"Say what?" Cliff is playing dumb, and she rolls her eyes.

"Cliff, it's nice that you call but both of us know that the only reason why you are is because you're looking for information on Albel. Information that I do not exactly have because although my job is information-gathering, I am not an expert on his love life or any possible feelings he might have for you."

Cliff goes silent at that, and Nel feels the expected wave of self-loathing that she knew she would be getting as soon as the words slipped out of her mouth. But at the same time there is a bit of relief, that there is one less thing she has to worry about.

For now, at least.

"Did you ask him?" she asks quietly. "After we defeated the creator… before we went our separate ways. Did you ask him to stay with you?" When he doesn't reply, she continues, "I know you were going to ask him."

"… I couldn't." When she sighs, he continues, "I gave him a head's up. Sorta." She doesn't even want to know what _that_ means, although it would be a welcome distraction from everything else. Of course, there is the problem that talking about Nox reminds her about the war with Airyglyph, so maybe it will not be that successful of a distraction after all.

"It's been over a year, Cliff." Of course, she doesn't ask the obvious question which is how in the name of Apris could Cliff fall for a complete and utter psychopath? Sure, she respects Nox, and she was worried about him. But that doesn't change the fact that he is… strange, to say the least.

"I've been busy," he replies defensively. "This diplomacy stuff takes more time than I thought it would, and I thought it might be best to give him some time to think on it."

"You should have told him," she says before she can think about the implications of that statement. As soon as she does, she wants to bang her head against the desk. Stupid! But before she can open her mouth and try to take that back or say something that could possibly undo the damage, Cliff beams at her.

"You know, I had a hunch that now might be the best time for that." And of course his hunches just _had to be completely past the mark_, seeing how this is most definitely the time for him to come to Elicoor and confess to someone who is currently _missing_. Good job, Nel. How could she have been so stupid as to suggest a thing?! "I think I'll swing by, see who I can pick up, and then we'll all come down to Elicoor. What do you say?"

"No, Cliff, I don't think-" But he's no longer listening to her. In fact, he's no longer listening to anyone as his face goes out of view as he starts listing off the planets he will need to visit to get everyone. She nearly shrieks in panic at the monster she is unleashing, "Cliff, wait!"

"Thanks Nel, you're the best. I'll see you in a week or two!"

"No! _Cliff Fittir_, get back-"

Nel spends the next thirty minutes trying to work the communicator so that she can call somebody—_anybody_—that might be able to dissuade Cliff from this insanity, even if she has to explain exactly what is going on. But even though she's willing to stoop that low, the higher forces apparently do not think it is enough because thirty minutes of random button pushing is not about to get her anywhere, and in the end, the only thing she manages to accomplish is to cause the awful contraption to beep at her angrily.

It's nowhere near loud enough to drown out her own cursing.

End Notes: A fun, exciting fifteen to twenty page essay awaits me now. Actually, two of them. Ack.


	4. Albel Nox Take II

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: And the non-existent plot thickens! Sorry, I'm totally brain dead. On the other hand, I did finish one of my big papers (16 pages, plus 2 pages of bibliography), but I have one more and a three-pager that is probably going to cause me more grief than the 12-20 pager. Weird, right?  
But enough of my whining. Thanks to the readers and reviewers for sticking along with this! I hope you are enjoying it as much as I did when I wrote it, and sadly enough I really did like this fic. It's sorta (sorta??) weird, I have to admit, but I can't help but like it nevertheless.  
And of course, many, many thanks to Sahara-darling!

_four_

Albel has spent the last four days trying to break the door down, and so he's more than a little enraged when it abruptly opens in his face. It makes his previous attempts look rather foolish, especially when it sends him sprawling, a bruise now adorning his face.

He's even more pissed when he discovers that the idiot opening the door is none other than the man whom he has sworn will be donating all of his vital organs to Crosell, and as he stands, he snaps peevishly, "What the hell do you want, Vox."

It's not a question because he knows that it's nothing more than another opportunity for Vox to humiliate him. Not that there hasn't been enough of that already, even though he's had minimal human interaction. But simply existing in this form is degrading, especially when it acts in ways that he doesn't quite understand. Yesterday he started bleeding, and if it wasn't for the fact that he had been trapped on the celestial ship with more than its fair share of females, he might have panicked. As it was, knowing what it is did not exactly prepare him for the cramps, and he's not sure if it's the moon that is making him so mood swingy or just the pain. Either way, he's in _no_ mood to see Vox, and it's clearly written on his face.

Vox is very good at ignoring the obvious though, or maybe he's just deliberately being irritating. It doesn't take much brain activity for anyone to realize that right now Albel wants nothing more than to paint the castle walls red with Vox's blood. Yet instead of turning and walking away from his fearsome scowl, Vox just smiles indulgently and closes the door. It's followed quickly by the click of a lock. Heh, seems that the morons 'guarding' the room have finally gotten the message. They're not taking any chances now even though he's weaponless, and it certainly took long enough to pound that lesson into them. Apparently, the fools had decided that since he was missing his customary claw and katana, as well as being saddled with a body he was not quite used to, he must have been helpless too. That delusion had only lasted them a day, during which two of them ended up in the hospital wing. He might have gotten out too if it wasn't for the damned fact that there was a lot more of them than even he could fight through _with_ weapons, and since then he's been locked in this accursed room with nothing to do but systematically destroy all the furniture. It's a petty thing to do, but it's worth the look on Vox's face when the man realizes that all his precious shit is now in shreds.

Albel grins, even though Vox recovers quickly from his shock. But that half-second of annoyance is more than enough to sustain him for now, although it's not as nice as seeing the man's head on the opposite side of the room than his neck. Still, it's good to show that whatever the bastard's planning, he's going to have trouble getting Albel to play along. If he thought this was going to be a simple matter of locking him in this room, Vox has another thing coming. Albel is not about to let whatever happen just _happen_; he's going to fight tooth and nail until Vox's corpse is _permanently_ six feet under. But that's really the least of which the bastard's going to have to worry about; Albel's been in this room with nothing to do but think of elaborate plans of revenge for quite a while now, and he'll be more than happy to act out on any of the bloody fantasies that have been parading through his mind.

"You're being childish, Nox." Albel snorts in reply because that's certainly obvious. But childish is better than stupidity, and that's a curse Vox is never going to be able to escape from. It seems that Vox has read his mind because the man glares at him, "Do you really think that doing something like this is going to change anything?"

"And do you really think that just because you believe something, it's actually true?" he retorts. "Believing yourself a king doesn't make you one, and believing yourself a man certainly doesn't change the fact that you were born a eunuch. Perhaps you should just learn to accept your lot in life and move on. Maybe then you'll have less wrinkles on your face, but that might just be you getting as old as Woltar."

He's never had a sense of self-preservation. He never will, at this rate. He's always been borderline masochistic, pushing himself to levels that would cause any person with an ounce of common sense to turn back, but that's what allowed him to move past the tragedies of his life. Some people turned to melodramatic poetry, some people broke down, but Albel has found a coping mechanism that allows him to gain even while he suffers for the losses that his incompetence has caused. It continues to this day, even though it really doesn't have to. But maybe that's because he still hasn't managed to forgive himself, and probably never will.

"What do you think you'll gain from these insults? Do you think it'll protect you from the inevitable, that if you irritate me enough you'll manage to escape your fate?" Vox asks, sounding remarkably like Woltar when the man is lecturing Albel on not using the guards for target practice. But what else are the guards for? Still, he's surprised that Vox can say these things with a straight face, as if he himself is fate and capable of dictating the future. The _arrogance_. Albel has met the people who really did have control over this universe, and he has to say that he was not at all impressed by them. In fact, they were so ignorant and self-complacent that he had nearly gone mad in that 4-D world. But even compared to that, Vox is _nothing_, and he has no problem pointing this fact out to his face.

"You're a fool, Vox," he hisses, and even though there's no need, he decides to elaborate on that fact because Vox always has been a little slow on the uptake. "You're a fool for thinking that you've already won. You think that it'll be this easy, that everyone's going to just let you do what you want because you've won the first battle? That's the problem with you. That's _always_ been the problem with you. You think just one win is enough, that one win means victory even though it's nothing more than the other party going back to lick their wounds to come back when you're complacent. But you'll regret that when you're bleeding to death and I'll be more than pleased to tell you _'I told you so_'."

"Will you?" Vox replies, and it's at this point that Albel realizes that there's something wrong with this situation. Usually Vox would have resorted to petty violence by now, but the bastard's _humoring_ him. There's something else going on in the background, something that he hasn't been able to figure out even though the majority of him doesn't really _care_ because it has no bearing on the eventual gory end of Duke Vox.

"How the hell _are_ you alive?" he demands sharply. "You should be dead." And the world would be _such_ a better place for it.

"Maybe I am." With those _dramatic_ words, Vox takes a step forward and Albel finds himself taking a step back even though it goes against his nature. It's like surrendering. It's not something he does, and the fact that he does makes him frown at his body's inexplicable reaction. "Maybe I'm nothing than a ghost come to finish the job that we started."

"Shouldn't a ghost have better things to do?" he replies. "And you're avoiding the question. Perhaps you're not as in control as you would like us all to think? Maybe you traded something in order to earn a second chance at life, or was I right and hell spit you back out because it just couldn't stand you any longer?" He wouldn't be that surprised if it was the latter, knowing that feeling all too well. One has to pity those poor demons who were stuck with Vox for the past year. It's a punishment that few should have to endure, although there _are_ a few people that Albel can think of who would be deserving of such a fate.

"It's something that doesn't concern you." And now Albel knows that there really is something going on, and that thought makes him even more intent on figuring out what it could possibly be. But the determination goes out in a heartbeat when Vox reaches—_much too close, much too __**close**_—over and takes hold of his hair which is now too thick to be put up in its customary ties. He knows; he's tried. Several times too because he was determined not to let it get in the way, and now look where it's got him. Vox smiles knowingly at his flinch and says, "My lady wife does not need to know these things."

Albel immediately pulls back, but there's only so far he can go because Vox hasn't let go of his hair and he'd rather not humiliate himself by testing his boundaries only to fail spectacularly. In order to cover for the fact that he's not as in control as he needs to be, he snaps, "I am not marrying a corpse. And you can't make me."

He sounds like a sulky, petulant child. No wonder Vox laughs at him. No wonder the entire _world_ laughs at him.

"Don't be silly. The plans have already been put forth. We'll be married in four days."

"You wish," he snarls. Which is really just a cover-up for the fact that he feels like he's just been slapped in the face. He hasn't even adjusted to the fact that he's a woman and then to be confronted with something like this; sure, Vox mentioned it earlier but he had thought the man was just trying to get under his skin. Vox had never had any interest in marriage before his death, so why would that have changed? Besides the fact that no sane woman would ever marry him anyway. Well, now Vox has a not-so-sane and not-so-woman in his possession, but even then it seems ridiculous. It seems a little too far to go just to humiliate a rival, and even Vox has to have his limits. But the matter-of-fact way the bastard spoke of this… Albel's suddenly having doubts and he doesn't like that. Because then he's accepting that Vox really is planning on going through with this, and quite frankly he'd rather _die, thank you so very much_ . "Find a dragon to fuck if you're that desperate. Or better yet, find a dragon to fuck _you_. I think you'll need it if you're really foolish enough to believe the shit spewing from your mouth."

"The sooner you accept this, the easier it'll be for you."

"Take your own advice, pig."

No sooner are the words out of his mouth that he is shoved to the ground. His snarl of anger is silenced by a rough kiss that is possessive and cold, and his body is pinned down so that it is difficult to move. It doesn't stop him from trying to shove Vox off but it's not enough, and Vox just laughs into his mouth at his pathetic attempts. The bastard doesn't even bother to pin down his arms; instead one hand rests on his chest and the other starts to reach lower until it's reached his leg and he feels the urge to vomit right then and there.

Before he can try to get some of the bile into Vox's mouth—_it would serve him right too_—the man breaks the kiss, looking down at him in cold triumph as that hand starts to move to his inner thigh, and even though he's injury free and there's nothing to impair his breathing, he can't do it anymore. Even his arms fall back as he stares at Vox, completely incapable of comprehending this situation. He's panicking, pure and simple, but then he'd have to confess to panicking and there's no way he can do that but what else is he doing right now?

"Perhaps this is why I came back," Vox whispers viciously as the hand that isn't touching his leg slips under his shirt and he tries desperately not to feel it there, biting his lip and doing his best to glare even though a tiny part of him just wants to beg for mercy and get Vox off. But it's a very tiny part, not worth listening to at all, and he manages to keep quiet. "You've always been quite pretty. Even with that perpetual scowl and your crippled arm, your arrogance was… tempting. I always wondered what it would be like to control someone who doesn't know how to submit to the inevitable. I always wondered what you would look like when you came to realize that there was finally something you couldn't just wriggle out of. You've been luckier than you know, Nox. When you should have died in the dragon's fire, your father _bravely_ sacrificed himself to spare your pathetic life. When you should have rotted in that prison, those beings from another world interfered. So many close calls, and yet you're still arrogant enough to believe that you're in control? Perhaps it will be best if you let go of your pride, finally."

He hisses even as he flushes in what can only be called embarrassment, but no words manage to come out. He's not sure what's worse; _this_ or Vox's triumph. Both are doing an excellent job in making him feel sick. Even better at making his brain stop working. Because this is what he has to look forward to, if Vox gets what he wants. This is what he will be getting, except even more of it and more degrading that what he is experiencing now, if he really is to be _married_. Vox will use him and it's already obvious that he won't be able to fight him off, won't be able to stop it from happening whenever Vox wants, and already the touch is starting to creep so close that he thinks he will go mad if it manages to reach its intended destination.

But he refuses to give into the panic. It's already gone far enough. He's not letting this go any further. He's only allowed one person to touch him like this before, and luckily that person is off on another galaxy, hopefully having forgotten his existence because if Cliff Fittir ever shows his ugly face on Elicoor again, he'll _break_ the moron's neck.

Which is what he does right now, even though it isn't Cliff and it isn't enough. Vox deserves an uglier fate, with more blood and more stabbing, but anything to stop this right now. It's easier than it seems. He just reaches up, takes Vox's head, and doesn't even smile as he snaps the neck with a very audible crack of the bones breaking. It sounds _wonderful_. Doesn't even take as much strength as he thinks it would and suddenly it's over.

And Vox is dead.

It's all very anticlimactic, but again, he's not about to complain about it as he shoves Vox's corpse away from him. Maybe later, when he's capable of coherent thought again. But he can still feel the ghost of Vox's hand touching him, and just that is enough to make him nearly vomit all over again. It sorta takes the triumph of the moment away, but right now he's just glad that Vox is gone.

For a long time it's just the sound of his breathing as he tries to calm his nerves long enough to stand. Once he does it's a miracle he doesn't fall right back over, but he holds on because he is stubborn and because he is tired of looking stupid. Even if there's no one to witness it, he'd rather not have to go through it anyway. Plus he needs to make sure the job is done; no need to take chances. Vox came back once, and he needs to make sure it won't be happening again. Probably the best way to do that would be to take Vox's sword and methodically cut the body into pieces. Send a limb to every corner of Elicoor so there's no way it can ever put itself back together, even if it does come back to life. Or at least not in his lifetime; after he dies it's not his problem anymore, and if Vox comes back that's for the next generation to worry about.

Or better yet, he could burn the pieces. It's terribly ironic and the thought almost makes him grin tiredly. There's definitely going to be no return from that. He can be a hero that way, saving the world from the dreaded return of a psychopathic zombie. A cynical laugh tears itself from his throat. That will be the day. He's tired of playing hero, thank you very much. Helping save the universe once was enough. He just wants to go back to the simple days of stabbing stupid people.

"Honestly. You're such a child."

He doesn't even hear Vox come up behind him. Or Vox's corpse. Or _something_. Because suddenly the corpse's arms are wrapped around him and he really can't breathe now as he's spun around to stare at Vox's head which looks crooked in comparison to the position of the neck. Which is really just a result of the neck snapping, but usually that has other side effects. Like continued death. Which isn't happening. Vox is instead carrying on as if nothing had happened, and a twisted grin makes the face ugly. "Did you really think that would work?"

He doesn't even know how to reply to that. Not that he could even if he did have an answer, but it doesn't matter anyway. There is no reply, at least not one that won't sound completely stupid. Because yes, he did think that it would work. Why wouldn't it? Or why didn't it?

The question stays in his brain instead of coming out as it should, but he can't ask it. It's a symptom of not breathing. A symptom of being held by a corpse. A symptom of the horrid realization that he's trapped in a nightmare that he can't make any sense out of, and anyway it's hard to think when Vox is laughing at him and his bug-eyed shock and _how the fuck is any of this happening?_

"My apologies, Albel," Vox smiles sardonically, and he tries his best to die on the spot because it's better than having to face what is to come. "But you'll just going to have to try a little harder than that if you're going to get rid of me."

End Notes: (sarcasm) Oooooh, twist! Okay, who didn't see that coming? I'm not very good at the… dramatic revelations thing, methinks. I try, but… no, trying is about the best I can do. Ack.

PM


	5. Nel Zelpher Take II

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: Yatta! Finished with my essays, so just two finals to worry about. It looks like I might have summer stuff to do too, stuff that is actually related to my major. Although I am still expecting to devote plenty of time to finishing _Okami_ because that game is just way too pretty, and I lurves it very much.  
Anyhow, thanks to the reviewers and readers, and to Sahara-sweetie for reviewing this sorry mess!

_five_

Nel isn't sure what she was expecting when she reaches the city of Airyglyph, but for some reason she can't help but be surprised by the fact that it's still standing. She's not really sure why that is; after all, even Vox wouldn't do something as foolish as razing the city to the ground. But she's seen so many villages suffer that exact fate after being taken over, and it doesn't even seem to matter that this is technically Vox's current headquarters. It just feels a little… odd, that's all.

But what doesn't fail to meet her expectations is the dead silence of the city. It has never been the most lively place, but after the war had ended trade was on the rise and the excellent workshops had made the city more bustling. Now it is even quieter than during the war. The streets are empty and the shops are closed, doors and windows firmly shut as if trying to keep something beside the cold out. Even the Wyvern's Tail Inn is closed tight, and it gives the city an eerie feeling as Nel creeps through it. It makes the sneaking a little more difficult as well, since it is painfully obvious that no one would be out if they could help it. It will make explaining her appearance all the more difficult, although that is already under the assumption that whoever catches her wouldn't recognize her immediately. She has quite a bit of a reputation in Airyglyph, and she has no interest in tempting fate into making her pay for it.

The easiest thing to do, of course, is not get caught in the first place. This is easier said than done, of course, but she's done it before. It shouldn't be too difficult to do it again, should it? There aren't even any guards prowling the streets, but in a city that seems deserted, perhaps there is no point. Maybe she's wrong in thinking that the residents are holed up in their homes; maybe they've left this place, not wanting to be anywhere near the man who they must now call king.

She can't blame them if that's the case. She'd want to do the same thing if she was them, but she doubts that Vox would let a mass migration occur right under his nose. It's more likely that they're all in their homes, and perhaps she can use this to her advantage. If they are being forced to live here against their will, perhaps they will be more likely to offer her a hand if she gets caught in a tight spot. But then, there are plenty of people who will be happy to turn her in to gain a favor from the new king, so it'll be best if she doesn't reach that point either.

Suddenly Airyglyph feels even more like a death trap than it already does, and Nel shivers slightly. Still, she can't help but wonder if her failure to act is nothing more than fear of discovery; not of herself but of the fates of those in the castle.

Or maybe it's just the screaming she'll get from Cliff when he shows up uninvited and discovers what happened. If Albel is dead she'll never hear the end of it, even if she's barely involved. Cliff Fittir tends not to keep his head when this sort of thing occurs, and she's already been in a state of paranoia for the past few days that he'll show up unexpectedly. More than once she found herself staring up at the sky in fear that he'll suddenly drop out of it, and that would be a disaster, to say the least. No one has contacted her in the past few days, and so she hasn't been able to explain to anyone why this would not be the best time for a friendly visit. If Cliff gets involved, it'll be more trouble than she's prepared for and she's already prepared for quite a bit.

It's not difficult to tell that this war is going to hurt both countries more than the last. The last, at least, had two prepared sides. But this time around, both of them are ill-prepared, and that means that more people are going to die as necessary adjustments are made. Even the Airyglyph army will suffer heavy losses; their army is smaller than it was before, and although the dragon brigade is finding it easy to terrify the villages, in a war there are too few of them to make a significant enough difference to reduce the bloodshed on their side. That part of the army had always been reserved more for special missions, and in an all-out war they will not be as effective.

The only solution, really, is to end this madness before it can start, but how to go about doing that? Even if Aquaria surrendered, she doubts it would lower the death count. Vox will not be merciful, and a surrender will translate to a slaughter of anyone who mattered, and even those who didn't. Surrendering is out of the question, really, but fighting is not going to be pretty either.

They're caught between a rock and a hard spot, and what galls her the most about it is that they don't even know why. Vox is supposed to be dead. How is it that he is back from the dead, and causing all this trouble? Really, it doesn't make sense. Even with the assumption that the entire dragon brigade is loyal to Vox, and that he will have the support of many of those who had lost their positions in the army… it seems a bit too much. For example, how had the man managed to reach Nox in the Kirlsa Training Facility? That place was crawling with Black Brigade soldiers, and the place was too small for dragons to get through. As she had passed through Kirlsa, she had heard the stories of a massacre at the fort, all of the victims being the defenders. Why was is it that none of the invaders had died? Even with extraordinary odds, such a feat seemed impossible.

All the questions that plague her came up in the past few days, when she has nothing better to do than go over the current circumstances. The problem is that they're all good questions, too good to simply brush aside. Until she gets an answer she's going to wonder, and she can only hope that the answer is in the castle so that she won't be distracted by said wondering.

She's not sure what she's really looking for. She's not sure who she's looking for. A clue to Vox's return would be interesting but not particularly useful. She can try to find the current numbers of the army but even that seems superfluous—it'd probably be something along the lines of what they fought a year ago. So why is she even here? Surely she could not have let her considerations for a person she could barely call a comrade blind her so, could she?

But for some reason, at the time and even now, it seemed… important that she come to Airyglyph castle. She isn't sure what she'll find here, but it feels like she will find something. So maybe right now what she should be concerned with is not the what or the why, but the how. After all, she still needs to get into the castle without being caught, and that's going to take all her concentration.

She'll just have to figure out the other stuff later.

* * *

When she looks back at all of this later, she'll have to seriously wonder how she managed to get into the castle without incident. The only thing she can recall is some dizzying narrow escapes and an incident with a kitchen maid who is probably going to be needing treatment for hysteria right about now. There are some other things too, which cements the fact that it could not have been that easy but right now she has other things to worry about. The most important thing is the fact that she's currently dangling on the castle wall, hanging on for dear life to a slight crack in the wall that is barely large enough for her to get her hands in. She tries to look somewhat composed during her ordeal instead of cursing her lot madly, although it's a fairly tempting thought. The only thing that stops her is the fact that Albel Nox is glaring at her from just beyond the window she is suspended in front of, and is looking entirely unpleased by her unexpected appearance. 

It doesn't take much to figure out why he looks so angry, and she finds herself staring openly until he-_she??_ snaps, "Staring is rude, Zelpher."

Any other time she would have snapped back that she doesn't need to be lectured by a man who doesn't understand what manners even are. But he's right—she is staring, and she's still staring even after being warned about it. It's just that it's hard to tear her eyes away from… oh dear.

"Albel." She barely notices that she's being too familiar; she's really having quite a bit of trouble comprehending this situation. And suddenly she's starting to figure out some of those questions that have been troubling her. Not the entire Kirlsa Training Facility thing—that's probably going to take a bit more explaining and she doubts _this_ is really the explanation for what happened there anyway—but those interesting rumors of Vox's upcoming marriage and no wonder Nox looks so angry right now. "You're…."

Her voice withers from the death glare being leveled her, but she's used to that. What gets her, rather, is the slight exasperation and just a smidgen of exhaustion at being told the obvious, and so she lamely finishes, "… symmetrical."

Well, technically he… she is. It seems that whatever had happened to Nox, it also involved things other than a gender change. She never knew to what extent the dragon's flame had damaged his arm, but it's odd to see him without the customary claw. He seems a little more… human, as a result. Or she. Or… this is starting to get a little tiresome.

Nox seems to agree, and he, she, or whatever gender Albel Nox currently is quickly demonstrates that although the look might have changed, the same _cheery_ attitude is still alive and well. "What the hell are you doing here? Didn't you hear the news? I thought you of all people with your little spy network would know the obvious by now. We're at _war_."

"So what? You going to turn me in?" she snaps back, already feeling irate. Nox has never managed to inspire the most friendly feelings in her, and patience is always in limited supply when they have to deal with each other. It seems that despite the fact that she really is worried, it isn't going to affect the fact that he just grates on her nerves. And vice versa, although in Nox's case he does have justification for his nastiness. She just wishes that he won't take it out on her, since she obviously bears no blame for whatever has happened to him. Speaking of which… "What happened to you?"

"Isn't it obvious? Or have you suddenly become blind from shock?" he mocks.

"Can't you be serious for just a little while? What in the name of Apris is going on? Why are you-"

"Like you?" Nox cuts in, looking rather like he's enjoying himself. Nel wonders why she even bothered to worry, but knows that she doesn't really mean it.

Well, mostly anyway.

"Call it whatever you want, if it makes you feel better," she replies coolly, proving that she can do the mature thing and not try to throttle Nox. It's a close call though, and she's starting to feel more than a little irritable with the other… female. Technically, anyway, although she was having quite a bit of trouble really… accepting it. She wonders fleetingly if Nox went through the same thing even though the evidence is undeniable, and if it wasn't for the fact that he's being terribly annoying right now, she might feel a little more sympathetic.

Attitude aside, her irritation might also stem from the fact that her hands are starting to go numb from clinging to the castle walls. It's not something she's had to do recently, and so she asks in as polite a tone as she can muster when she's speaking to someone like Albel Nox, "Can I come in?"

"No."

She sighs, trying to ignore the sting in her fingers as she growls, "Nox."

"The window doesn't open. So just keep hanging there. You Aquarian spies are good at that sort of thing, aren't you?"

Being the more mature of the two, Nel decides to ignore that jab by changing the topic to something else. "Is it true that you're to be wed?"

Perhaps not that much more mature. The abrupt shift in topic catches him somewhat off guard as his eyes narrow, "What makes you think something like that?"

"It's said that Duke Vox is going to be marrying someone from the Nox family. Seeing how you're the only member and considering what's happened to you, it doesn't take much more to figure out the rest."

"I should have known your rats would get _that_ information to you. Is that the only thing women think about? Weddings?"

The fact that he's avoiding the question is answer enough. "You are, aren't you?"

He flushes, but covers for it by snapping, "No. Not if I can help it."

She sighs, somewhat exasperated with Nox's behavior. He's acting as if none of this really matters, as if he has everything under control. But somehow she doubts that's what's happening because if it was, the situation would be completely different. For one thing, she wouldn't have to be sneaking into the palace and hoping against hope that she doesn't get trapped like one of the rats Nox has _so_ aptly nicknamed her spies. "Not if you can help it? Nox, look at you! Look at what's happening! If you could really change this, you would have done it by now!"

He growls, but makes no move to try and remove some of her organs regardless of the glass that is separating the two. This is possibly a sign that she's getting through to him, which is a worrying thought in itself. On one hand, they might actually get somewhere. On the other, he's giving in too easily. Something's wrong. He's tried to be his usual, irascible and unpleasant self, but he's not managing to hang onto it.

"Well," she says finally, deciding that it's best to move on, "never mind that right now. You can tell me the whole story later. It's best that we get out of here while we can, and-"

"Speak for yourself, Zelpher. Do you honestly think it's going to be that easy?"

No, obviously. And suddenly a thought occurs to her as she blinks at Nox, "Why _are_ you still here?"

"I like the accommodations."

Her temper snaps, "Damn it Nox! Just for a second, could you try and take this seriously?! I know that's difficult for you when you're not in the middle of bloodshed, but could you think about other people for a change? I need to know what's happening! Why haven't you left? Why is Vox alive? What are his plans?"

"And of _course_ he tells me all of these things while we're sitting over tea and crumpets," Nox replies tightly, and a warning sign goes off in the back of her mind but she doesn't pay attention to it. There's no time for it. Their argument is bound to catch attention sooner or later, and then they'll both be stuck here. "Be realistic, Zelpher. What makes you think I'll know any more than you already do?"

"You know something. I don't know what, but you have to know _something_."

"A hunch, is it?"

She stiffens at that, and Nox smiles mockingly. "Contacted the outsiders already? Running to them for help, are you? Typical. Although then, that might actually be a good idea. Blow up this castle and take Vox with it. You have my blessing."

"Cliff contacted me," Nel replies flatly. "I didn't ask for help. I didn't even tell him what's going on. Maybe I should have because now he has the notion to come down here with the others, and then it'll be impossible to hide what's happening from them." Although both of them know that wouldn't have worked anyway because as soon as Cliff hears what's going on here—_especially_ if he hears what exactly has happened to Albel—it'll take another army of 4-D beings to keep him off Elicoor, and even then that'll be a close call. Cliff can be rather determined when he wants to be.

"Those fools should mind their own business."

"It's too late to be pointing that out, don't you think?" she shoots back. "Maybe if you could _consider_ cooperating with me for just one moment, we can solve this mess before they get here." It's a long shot and a distant hope, but it's all she has right now. It's all any of them has, no matter how ridiculous it seems. "I really don't want to ask this again but honestly, Nox. What's going on? You must know something. You were never very good at hiding-"

"He's dead."

Nel stares. She's not sure if it's because of the information or the fact that Nox says it in a sing-song, making him sound as if he's gone completely off the deep end. Maybe she's not too far off the mark. Maybe the stress has finally gotten to him.

Or maybe she's the one who's starting to go nuts and has hallucinated all of this.

"… what… what do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean by that," he mocks back. "What do you _think_ I mean? And here I was under the impression that you might actually have the ability to think. I must have overestimated-"

"When you're giving riddles like that, what am I supposed to think?!"

He frowns at her, and she suddenly realizes exactly how odd this is. The person standing before her is most obviously Albel Nox, but at the same time it's not quite the same. It's something that goes beyond the gender change, which in itself is already headache-inducing. As a woman, Nox looks so disturbingly like… the man that she knows that she has to continuously do a double-take. This isn't to say that he looked like a woman before—which he sort of did, but she knew better than to say that to his face even though it was initially difficult to take a man in a skirt seriously. His skills with the katana had quickly brushed away any of those previous doubts of his ability, but just right now… he still looks like Nox, except with more feminized features. If she is to get technical, she could make an observation of how the blond hair creeps into the black higher up than it previously did, and Nox's face has become slimmer and his features more gentle. But his eyes are still hard and angry, something that a derisive smile has never been able to completely change.

"You think it's a riddle?" he suddenly asks, forcing her to pay attention to the situation at hand, as difficult a task as that is.

"Well…" the answer is yes, obviously, but she decides that she does not really want to answer that question after all. She's starting to feel angry, and she's not sure if it's because Nox is being as infuriating as before or if it's because this might actually be a plausible explanation. If Vox is dead, it would explain how he survived the blast from the celestial ship; namely, he didn't. But that was _ridiculous_. What is Nox trying to say by this? A joke seems to be the only plausible explanation for his words, but his expression is so deadly that she doesn't want to tell him that. Nox might not have his customary weapons, but there's no doubt from the look on his face that he is still capable of hurting her, even if she's the closest thing he has to an ally right now. Although really that's a fine way of putting it, considering how they've never been very… close, to say the least. "You must admit, it is a little hard to swallow. You say he's dead and yet you are still here and Airyglyph is still apparently operating under his control… if he's dead, wouldn't things be different?"

Nox sighs, "Always so _serious_, you Aquarians. Don't you have any imagination? Or do you really find it so hard to believe that-"

"Yes, I really do find this hard to believe. How can be Vox be dead? Are you trying to tell me that his corpse is what's causing all of this to happen? And how would you _know_? What proof do you have that he is-"

"Does a broken neck count?"

She doesn't reply, instead just giving him a look to continue. Nox must be feeling generous because wonder of all wonders, he actually complies instead of just giving her the silent treatment. "I snapped his neck. It really wasn't all that difficult; shame I never tried it before. But either a broken neck isn't as effective as it is said to be when it comes to killing people or Vox is already dead, seeing how he just got right back up and acted as if nothing had happened. Although his head was a bit crooked. It's fine now though.

"'You can't kill a dead man.' That's what he told me. And it's not just him. Quite a few of his men are dead, people I recognized as having died in the war. I don't suppose you have corpses springing up like flowers in your damn country, do you? No? Humph, more's the pity. It would be nice to have an army of dead men, but I suppose your _Apris_ wouldn't quite agree."

She has half a mind to tell him off for saying such blasphemy, but what would be the point of that? Besides, she has a feeling that even if she does try to open her mouth, nothing would come out. Albel must be under the same impression because he grins at her. "Not going to ask stupid questions?"

"That's impossible though!" she finally manages to stammer out, knowing already that it's a lost cause.

"Is it? After everything we've seen, after everything we've _done_, do you really think it's that impossible still?"

Damn that Nox. It's times like these when he makes perfect sense that makes her wonder exactly how he could be so twisted the rest of the time. He's an intelligent person even if it seems like the only thing he cares about is bloodshed, and he more than has the capacity to be a great leader if he would just work on his personality. He's a man of contradictions, to say the least, and sometimes Nel wonders what he would have been like if his father had not died.

But that doesn't make this any easier to believe. So finally, she decides that believing is not the most important thing at the moment. They'll have time later, when Nox can explain it in a vaguely coherent manner, or at least what passes for coherent for a guy like him. She takes in a deep breath, more for the sake of calming herself than anything else, and says, "We'll worry about that later, after we get you out."

Nox snorts, "And how are you intending on doing that?"

"The window-"

"The window doesn't open," he reminds her with maddening patience. "There isn't much point for that, considering how blasted cold it always is in the mountains. We're not as lucky as you _Aquarians_, Zelpher, to have sunshine and blue skies all the time. And if you break the thing open… well, maybe you'll continue to be lucky and the guards won't be deaf. And unless you're planning on hanging there for the indeterminate amount of time it takes to come up with a plan and _hope_ the daily round of guards isn't stupid enough to look up and see you, I suggest you leave. **Now**."

"I can't just leave you here!" she protests. The ache of her muscles loudly protest otherwise, but seeing how this is _not_ the time to be petty, she chooses to ignore that sentiment.

"Why the hell not?"

"Well-" Because it wasn't right. Because he was a comrade. Because in a few days he was going to be married to _Vox_, and nobody deserved a fate like that. She has a lot of reasons, but none of them come out and she knows deep down that he doesn't give a shit about any of them.

"Spare me your moralistic bullshitting, Zelpher. I'll even go so far as to save you the trouble of feeling guilty. I'm not going anywhere."

"Albel!" she hisses, using his first name in a desperate attempt to persuade him that this is completely nuts, and really not the right thing to do. "Don't you understand what you're getting yourself into?"

"Better than you do." And the tone implies that he does know very well what she's implying, and he's not just being flippant. He can't afford to be, really, considering what he might be facing if he stays here.

"Then why?!" she demands, the frustration building up. Albel Nox is not exactly the kind to make stupid decisions like this. He's strangely and painfully pragmatic, and his lack of emotional well-being prevents him from indulging in self-sacrifice. Maybe he's right, and she won't be able to help him escape. But the fact that he won't even try? He isn't the kind of person to give up that easily, but maybe that's where the pragmatism comes into play. If it won't work, why bother attempting? Giving up, giving in—it's not really that when there's nothing to gain.

But _still_, it seems that… "You have to give me a reason, Nox," she repeats.

He fixes her with a level stare, and for a reason she cannot explain, it sends a chill down her spine, making her forget all her other worries right now.

"I need to figure out what's happening."

* * *

End Notes: I love how this was sorta explanation chapter, except I'm not really sure if anything managed to get explained. Um.  
Anywho, next chapter will be up on Sunday, as usual. Unless something happens to change that, which seems rather doubtful…. 

PM


	6. Arzei Bohnleid Take II

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: Ah, done with classes! I'm so happy! Although it's totally a good thing that this fic is finished writing because there's no way I could finish it over summer, what with PS2-goodness distracting me so well. Plus Albel has sadly been replaced as 'character I fantasize about as I sleep with my eyes open in class', although I do lurve him very much still. So he gets all my fic time right now, poor dear.  
Anywho! Many thanks to the readers, reviewers, and my dear sweet beta! Sahara-darling, what I would do without you, I shudder to think and dearly hope I will never find out.

_six_

"Wedding should be a happy affair, don't you think?"

Airyglyph XIII—although now he has to wonder if he really deserves the title, seeing how it's really nothing more than an empty role—carefully resists the urge to ask Albel if he—or really she, but it is difficult to think of him as being anything other than a very irritable male—is being sarcastic or has simply gone insane. Judging from the situation, it might be a little bit of both. He certainly cannot blame the captain in either case, but at the moment he is finding it a little difficult to endure Albel's odd sense of humor. Albel has always been a little off in the head but Arzei is fond of him all the same, but it is rather irritating to realize that he is more concerned for the man—technically, anyway—than even Albel is. Or bothers to be, really.

As if knowing that there is not going to be a reply—because really, Arzei has no idea how he is supposed to reply to a statement like that, and even if he did he probably would not in order to not tempt Albel into saying something even more outrageous—Albel continues tactlessly, or perhaps he is just mocking him, "I remember your wedding was quite happy, your majesty."

It takes everything in him not to flinch back from that. As if he needs another reminder of his losses. He already has had much too much time to obsess over the death of his wife and son, lacking anything to do now that he has been stripped of his power. Albel is taking things too far, provoking him like that, and it takes everything in him not to challenge him. Empty or not, his title is still king, and Albel really should not be saying such things. But since when has Albel ever truly cared about those formalities anyway? It seems hypocritical that what once endeared him to the man could now repulse him like this, but then again, he really should not be that surprised.

"It was," he says finally, trying his best not to choke on his own words.

He can still hear Rozaria's screaming. He hears it all the time, and can only infer what her last moments were like from that screaming. It is not a pleasant thought and he wishes he could get away from it, but that in itself seems like a desecration of her memory.

Although he is not really sure if remembering her like this and _only_ like this is really much better.

"This one won't be," Albel says with maddening cheer even as he aims a chilling smile at his own reflection, and Arzei can only agree whole-heartedly with that sentiment.

* * *

He knows for a fact that no invitations were sent out for this wedding, but it seems that the entire upper crust of Airyglyph—or what remains of it, which is admittedly very little and truthfully all his fault—has managed to turn out for it anyway. He suspects that the majority is here for the sake of their curiosity rather than any actual loyalty to Vox, but he could be wrong. Somehow he doubts that. For one thing, he knows that few people outside the castle know of Albel's… change, and so all they know is that Vox is marrying someone of the Nox family. Most likely they are curious as to the identity of some previously unknown member of nobility, and are wondering now how someone of such significance could have slipped right by them. 

So perhaps it is really not that surprising that he almost laughs at their expressions when the _bride_ comes stomping into the hall, murder written all over 'her' face. Or technically his, since he knows that the majority of the people here know exactly who Albel Nox is and what his gender is supposed to be. He supposes that a few of them might try and tell themselves that this is Albel's twin sister, but he doubts that delusion will last very long.

For a moment though, he is more than willing to buy into the falsity. It is easier than he would have expected; although he knows better than anyone that the person stalking towards them—followed by several heavily armed guards, as Vox is not about to take any risks right now—really is Albel, it does not really look like him right now. It might be the dress, which Albel miraculously manages not to trip over despite the fact that it is much longer than his usual outfit—something that had always struck Arzei as being rather peculiar, now that he thinks about it. The dress itself is quite plain, white silk with a minimal amount of lace trim at the bottom, but Albel wears it astonishingly well. Albel's hair has also been pulled up into a half-knot, and he has obviously been subjected to some form of make-up that emphasizes his now feminine features. Of course, none of that can hide the utter rage on the captain's face, and more than a few of the guests draw back as he passes by.

Next to him, he can hear Vox chuckle softly. His uncle is enjoying this, although he for one really cannot understand what is so amusing about this situation. He also does not want to be here, and if it was his choice Albel would not be here either. But there is not much _choice_ involved right now, and he can only stand there trying not to show the extent of his displeasure on his face. He manages not to scowl but he knows that his expression is probably torn between a grimace and a horrible attempt at a fake smile, but it is the best he can manage as Albel stops just short of them, folding his arms and glaring daggers at Vox.

It is more than apparent that Albel has no intention of making those final steps, and there's nothing the guards behind him can do to persuade him otherwise. Arzei has a feeling that even the gods themselves could not make Albel Nox move if he does not want to, but unfortunately Vox is more than happy to prove that statement wrong. The smile never changes as Vox takes a few steps over and grasps Albel's wrist. The choice now is to follow or be dragged and cause a spectacle, and Albel has enough pride that he does not want to fall on his face in front of a crowd. He has already been subject to enough humiliation as it is, although Arzei is a bit surprised that the captain does not just throw caution to the wind and try to attack Vox. After all, if you get down to it, what is a little bit more humiliation?

But it seems that even Albel has some limits to how much he can stand, and he grudgingly takes his place next to Vox. His expression still radiates hatred, but his eyes seem to hold a faint amount of nausea in them, and Arzei wonders if Vox notices. But no, Vox is now staring directly at _him_ and he knows what he is supposed to do.

Weddings in Airyglyph are not done by priests, the country lacking a central religion to have the appropriate clergymen to perform such mundane tasks. They are instead conducted by government officials, and if one was of a high enough ranking and in his favor, sometimes by the king himself. Arzei has never actually had to do this sort of thing before, seeing how wars were not particularly conducive to weddings and how the war's aftermath had busied him with enough tasks that he was more than justified in begging out of this particular task, but he has no excuses now. He wishes that he had one, but mourning for traitors is apparently not good enough. Besides, he has a feeling that this is Vox's petty way of making him suffer, although he knows it is nothing compared to what Albel is going through right now. The queasy look gets even worse as he starts to go through the motions of conducting a wedding, although Albel's expression remains grim and angry.

When he gets to the part with the names, a murmur ripples through the crowd as they realize that standing before them really is none other than Albel Nox, also known as Albel the Wicked, captain of the Black Brigade. He tries to focus on the task at hand but without actually hearing it he knows what they are asking. How? Why? Vox's smile is getting more triumphant and Albel keeps looking sicker, and the voices are getting louder as they all ask the question that none of them have the answer to.

He would like to answer them even though he is just as uncertain as the rest of them—what he knows is rather vague, after all, but it is not as if he is going to approach Vox and ask him for a more complete explanation of what has caused Albel's change—but he has reached the point that he has been dreading, although not nearly as much as Albel, whose face is now rather pale, although it's not too noticeably different from before. But it is enough, and he can practically feel the silence go through the room as he reaches those crucial words that make this reality official.

"In the name of the king, you are wed."

The words are barely out of his mouth that he wants nothing more than to apologize. But it is too late for that. Albel seems to slump but the gesture is hidden by the fact that he has been turned to face Vox. They lock eyes for a moment and Albel comes out of his daze long enough to reward Vox with a sneer, but then it's wiped away by the brutal kiss that he can no longer watch. Instead, he stares at the crowd, who looks torn between half-heartedly cheering and continuing to whisper amongst themselves. In the end, they do a combination of both when Albel rips himself away from Vox, although he cannot get too far with Vox's arms wrapped around his silk-clad waist.

"I hate you," Albel hisses, although his voice is barely audible over the babble of voices in the background.

"I know," Vox replies.

End Notes:  
… sorry Albel?

(flees for life!)  
PM


	7. Albel Nox Take III

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: Here is chapter seven everyone! No real notes to say, I think, except as usual to thank the readers and my dear sweet beta, Sahara. Thanks everyone!

_seven_

He doesn't eat. For one thing, he's not hungry. For another, he knows he'll throw up if he does. So rather than try, he decides to just skip the process altogether. It's easier that way, and a hell of a lot less embarrassing.

Not that he hasn't had enough of that already. He can still hear the maggots talking about him as if he wasn't there. They would never have dared to behave like that if he'd had his sword, but stripped of his weapons and unable to retaliate even with his fists—he has _two_ now, and he might as well take advantage of that pathetic fact—the worms are free to say whatever they wished.

_Within earshot_.

It's a given that he's angry. He's not sure who he's angry at though. It could be them or it could be him, but most likely it's just Vox. It's always Vox these days. It's like he's getting obsessive or something. Perhaps he is. Maybe that's Vox's intent. Maybe he should entertain Vox with some of his more gruesome fantasies. There's quite a few of them, and he can talk throughout the entire night if need be.

He eyes Vox, which is different from his previous attempts at glaring holes through Vox's skull as the bastard eats. That had not worked, obviously. Even if it did, Albel doesn't think it'll make a difference. What's a few more holes to a corpse? What is anything to a corpse?

It's his experience that when you killed a man, the man stayed dead. It is an arrangement that works very well, in his opinion. If the corpses could spring up whenever they wished, things would get a lot more complicated and Albel would have to be killing things more than once. It wasn't as fun the second time you killed the same thing; during the journey with the off-worlders, there seemed to be a lot of multiple killings of the _same damn person_. It was a waste of time then, and it's a waste of time now. Part of the pleasure of killing was the entire 'never getting up again' thing. Taking that way takes away a lot of the fun.

Besides, if the dead could really come back, he will have to watch his back a bit more in case Glou Nox comes after him. He can already imagine the beating he'll get for failing the ceremony, and he'll have his head through a wall before the day is out.

… so maybe it wouldn't be that bad after all. The problem is that Glou Nox is still, as far as Albel knows, dust. Maybe that's why he hasn't come back. And maybe that's the solution. If he sets Vox on fire, the body cannot come back. It'll take a while for the dust particles to form something even remotely resembling a human, and even if it does, there'd be a lot of dandruff hidden in all of it. Hopefully enough to make Vox choke on his own spit. That'd be a sight to behold.

Vox seems to read his mind, looking up and raising an eyebrow. He just scowls back. Vox is actually being civil, but Albel doubts that it will last for long. Vox always had talent at keeping up a nice façade, something he could never bother with himself. That was made his reputation in the end. Apparently not smiling along with the stupidity of the world made him a monster, made him wicked. Who the hell ever came up with that thrice-damned nickname anyway? It sounded like a monster only a child could fear. He'd made it into something a little more fearsome, but the fact that people could quiver at the word 'wicked' is horribly funny. They could have chosen a better description, one that doesn't make him snort when he hears it.

His sense of humor is going to do him in one day, if it could even be called that. Vox certainly doesn't seem to think so, but Vox's humor is twisted beyond belief. He finds amusement in things that even Albel doesn't see the humor in, no matter how he tries to make it funny. Probably because it just isn't.

It's sort of like this situation. Upon pain of death, Albel might be persuaded to admit that he's terrified, but seeing how there is no threat of imminent death, he keeps his mouth shut and tries not to vomit even though there's nothing in his stomach. Maybe that's a part of it too. Maybe not. He's not hungry after all. Justification in itself.

Damn it. He should have left when Zelpher suggested it. Granted, it wouldn't have worked, no matter how she tried to make it sound plausible. But it's about time those worms learned that cynicism is most definitely an appropriate substitute for hope. Hope is pathetic. It makes people do stupid things because they think they can, and when they find out that they can't, they whine. That wasn't supposed to happen, they'd say. But it did.

_Pathetic_.

But sadly not nearly as pathetic as he is right now. He's starting to get cold, although he doesn't let it show on his face. But this stupid flimsy white dress does nothing to protect himself from the castle's damp chill, and Vox hasn't bothered to light the fire. Apparently corpses don't get cold. They need to eat but they don't get cold. It's all rather arbitrary, in his opinion, but no one's asking for his opinion. And he's not going to give it.

Of course he's not laboring under the delusion that if he keeps his mouth shut, Vox might just forget about him. It's hard to imagine something like that when he's being eyed like a piece of meat. It makes him sick, and he wonders if he might just pass out. But that would be much too convenient, and if there are gods they certainly don't like him nearly enough to spare him of this. In fact, the cold is forcing him to stay wide awake, and he's tempted to wrap his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to warm himself up, but that'd attract too much attention. Which is the last thing he needs, even if it's a losing battle.

But hey, he doesn't know the meaning of defeat. The evidence is staring at him in the face, one step away from hitting him in the head, and yet he hasn't managed to convince himself that this will really happen. His body has accepted it but his brain hasn't.

This makes him wonder if it's possible to do a self-lobotomy. Probably not. Probably not even worth _trying_.

Damn.

Coherency is not high on his list of priorities. Nothing is at the moment. He's not sure what he's waiting for. He's not sure what he's even doing. He's not going to get rescued, and he's not expecting to. He doesn't even want to be because that'll mean he's depending on someone else for his well-being, and that's just pathetic. Some people seem content to have their entire existence depend on another person, but that was the very definition of a fool. Because what are you supposed to do when that person is gone? People die. That fact is obvious. And most people don't come back after they're dead, which is something that he has to add now due to the current circumstances. When you're alone, what do you do? Die with them?

Foolishness. It's one thing to be loyal. It's another thing to be painfully dependent.

That's what he would have been subjecting himself to if he'd let the damn ox ask the question before they had separated. It was on the tip of the moron's tongue, but he'd just sneered and walked away before it could be asked. He didn't even know why Fittir had even bothered trying. Leaving Elicoor would have meant leaving his element and entering an existence where he would have to rely on someone else's help at all times. He's already seen how out of place he was on their journey, but an entire lifetime of placing his welfare in another's hands? Even he's not masochistic enough for that.

That's not to say that a part of him doesn't regret it. Actually a lot of him regrets it, particularly now because then he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be in this position. He wouldn't be sitting here willing himself to get acquainted with his long-dead—_and hopefully still dead_—ancestors, all while trying his very best not to make a mess of the pretty white dress that is damned useless at _everything_ as Vox stands and steps towards him.

It's not a very long distance. Not nearly enough for him to try knocking himself out. He's never tried that before, but he'd probably screw up anyway. Seems that a lot of things he tries to do ends up getting screwed up, which begs the question of why he even bothers trying anymore.

Trying is better than nothing. Technically. He's having trouble convincing himself of that fact right now because he could try clawing Vox's eyeballs out right now, and he's not. There are a lot of things he could be trying. There are a lot of things he's _not _doing.

And he can only wonder why.

"Drink this." A cup of something warm is shoved into his hands.

He nearly drops it out of spite. Somehow he manages to contain himself and look up at Vox to ask in a completely disinterested tone (because he doesn't care, really, since he knows already that it's just one more thing that's going to make him want to kill something small and fluffy), "What is it."

He's half expecting Vox to give him a useless answer. _Just drink it_, he can already hear Vox say. But for once Vox deviates from his usually predictable pattern of stupidity, and the answer is more than enough to explain why.

"It is so you will not get pregnant."

He nearly drops it again, although it would not have been on purpose. He also nearly throws up. He nearly does a lot of things but he doesn't manage anything _close _to being remotely useful, and he's reduced to staring at the cup in his hand in undisguised horror.

"You should be grateful," Vox says, smiling at his expression. "As soon as you bear an heir, I won't need you anymore."

"And what does a corpse need with an heir anyway? You're _dead_," he reminds the bastard angrily, in an attempt to disguise his hands shaking as if they're having a seizure all on their own. Which wouldn't be fair because the rest of him should be allowed to join in the fun too.

It turns out that Vox is right. He is grateful, although not for the reasons he's been given. Like hell he's going to spend nine months with that bastard's demon spawn anywhere near him, let alone _in_ him. He'd rather _be_ in hell, although at the moment he's certain that he's somehow managed to reach what must be the earthly equivalent.

He doesn't hesitate to drink it down, knowing that Vox will have no issue with forcing him to do so and he'd rather not get to that point. He regrets it the moment he does. It's bitter and disgusting, and he immediately starts to feel a little dizzy. Remarkably he has enough sense to stop drinking as soon as the first wave of faintness starts, but then it's taken out of his hands and pushed to his lips, tipped into his mouth and he's so out of it that he doesn't resist. It's the second time he's been so stupid. Third time's the charm. Maybe he'll manage to spit it out next time.

But for now, it's too late. He hears a clink and turns to watch Vox set the cup down. Or in theory he tries because he doesn't manage it. Instead he just sways back like a rag doll except even _more_ useless, which he didn't think was possible until now. Seems like everyone is deliberately trying to prove him wrong now. What did he do this time to arouse the spite of every being in the universe?

It's like the last time. Except instead of inducing enough pain to make him pass out, whatever he's just drunk stops at the dizzy stage, leaving him helpless. So it's not really the same.

It's fucking _worse_.

"I knew you would resist, so this just makes it easier for both of us," Vox says, and he wants to scream, _How_?! _How_, exactly, is this supposed to make it easier for _both_ of them? This serves nobody's purpose except for Vox's, and the fact that the bastard is trying to make this seem like it's mutually beneficial is just… he _doesn't want this_. Doesn't make a difference if he's passed out or drugged or plain insane. He doesn't want this. That fact hasn't changed in the past ten minutes. And it won't.

How _dare_ he imply that it would ever be otherwise? The _bastard_. The fucking _bastard_.

But all he can manage by this point is to open his mouth. Nothing comes out. Everything fails him when it matters. _He_ fails at the crucial moments. And he can do nothing, _does_ nothing when Vox begins to remove that foolish white dress that is just so damned useless, just as damned useless as he is except it has an excuse. He doesn't. What excuse does he ever have? There are extenuating circumstances, but there are _always_ extenuating circumstances. Some people fight through them. Most people fail. He's not sure what the difference between those two categories are, but he knows exactly which one he belongs in.

He's always known, on some level. He denies it throughout the day, but when it's night and there's nothing except him and his personal demons to keep him company, it's hard to think otherwise.

The demon before him isn't one of his own. It's worse because it covers both the physical and mental aspects of torture, self-induced or not. And he's being carried to the bed, and now he's on the bed, and his hair is being pulled down and it's the only covering he has right now except it's nothing. Nothing, nothing, _nothing_. Just like him, just like this, just like what he wants to feel except that's just another thing being denied to him and why is he even bothering to be angry when he should have expected it? Except he's not angry. He's just tired and he's not sure if it's the drug or those damned female hormones or _what_ but then Vox brushes a hand against his face and observes mildly, "You're crying."

_No I'm not_, he wants to say. And what a pretty lie that would be.

He can't bring himself to do what he needs. He can't bring himself to lie anymore, when the truth is so glaringly obvious. So instead, _instead_, he says nothing at all.

End Notes:  
… sorry again, Albel-sweetie?  
(hides from stabbity stabs)

PM


	8. Mirage Koas

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: And chapter eight is a-here. No notes, as usual, and not very much going on in my life except major frustrations with my cosplay outfit. But that's a different story. Anyway, many thanks to readers and reviewers, and my sweetie beta Sahara Storm.

_eight_

Mirage Koas likes to think that she knows Cliff better than most people do. It comes with the territory, having known him for as long as she has. But despite this, there are times when Cliff acts in ways that makes her stop and blink, and this has to be one of them.

After hearing Cliff detail his plan to her, she tilts her head slightly to get a better view of him. Perhaps a different angle will erase the psychotic smile on his face.

The new perspective does nothing to improve the view, and so she sighs and in a very matter of fact sort of way—also known as the voice she uses for children who have been very, very bad—asks, "Are you on drugs, Cliff?"

It is a sign of his insanity that he is not in the least bit offended by the question. This in itself is enough to make her frown as he throws an arm around her, tsking at her question before replying with a manic grin, "Pretty sure."

Silence. She tries to come up with another plausible cause for this sudden onset of… giddiness. "Did you hit your head?"

It is his turn to frown at her, but not in an angry way. He just looks slightly confused by her questions, which just goes into deepening the dread she is starting to feel. "Not recently…."

She eyes him thoughtfully, contemplating the value of hitting him herself. Perhaps that will cause him to act… normally, or at least what passes for normal when it comes to Cliff. It is a rather low standard, all things considered. This is not to imply that he is not intelligent; he is, she knows, but he can be very impulsive. And when his feelings get in the way of the thinking process, problems can arise, especially if he does not take the time to think everything through.

"Have you spoken to Nel or Albel about this… plan of yours?" she asks carefully, even though she has a feeling she already knows the answer to that question. She also knows the implication behind Cliff's vigorous nodding, as if he is trying to convince his mother that this really is a good idea.

It is not that she thinks it is a bad idea—the prospect of visiting Elicoor II and seeing some of their old friends is a legitimate reason for wanting to make a long journey. She would not mind it at all, but the real question is if that is the _only_ reason. Knowing Cliff, it obviously is not. He has never been good at hiding his ulterior motives, and she has a feeling that things can get a bit messy if they do not approach this carefully. After all, if it is Cliff, and if it is Elicoor II, there is only one thing that can be prompting the sudden desire to visit. And that one thing has a temper than is quite short, and Mirage is not quite sure if Albel Nox will appreciate an unexpected get-together.

"Both of them?" she ventures, and to this Cliff grins sheepishly.

"I talked to Nel about it. Told her I'd round up the gang and try to get us all down there for a visit."

Mirage raises an eyebrow. Just as Cliff always has a hunch, she always has a suspicion of a catch. Some might call that sort of attitude cynical, but it has been her experience that it is very much justified, especially as she asks, "And Albel?"

Cliff shrugs, "Well, you know the guy. It's not like he ever picks up his communicator anyway. Knowing him, he's probably just thrown it in the nearest river or given it to a dragon to eat or something…." There is a bit of a pleading tone at the end of that sentence, as if he knows what she is getting at. "Come on, I'm sure Nel would have told him."

"Knowing and approving are two different things. Besides, you said that you talked to Nel about it, but you did not say if she approved either. Or did you not give her the opportunity to say anything because you were too busy imagining a beautiful reunion with Albel?"

Mirage does not wonder why Cliff is in love with Albel. It is enough for her that he is, but that does not mean she thinks it will turn out well. Cliff seems to have no doubts about it, and she knows that the Elicoorian is probably not too opposed to the idea either since Cliff is still in possession of all of his limbs. Still, the fact that they are currently leading two completely separate lives does not seem to bode well for the future of the relationship, if one ever truly existed. Cliff will be asking for a lot if he wants Albel to leave Elicoor, and she knows that Cliff will never be able to function on an underdeveloped planet himself. For one thing, he will probably be completely incapable of holding back his enthusiasm for trying to speed progress up, which could spell disaster for an entire world. Not to mention how that would probably lead to him being arrested by the Federation, which would just be one rather irritating mess for her to clean up. She would probably leave him in prison for a few years, just to make sure he learns a lesson, but she has a feeling that even _that_ will not completely cure him.

To make it short, if it was under different circumstances then… maybe the two of them would have been able to figure something out. But for now all she could see is one person having to give up a lot for the sake of the other, and she does not really think either is capable of that. Oh sure, it _could_ work for a time, but once the spark of a new relationship started to wear off, things would inevitably change. She does not really want to even think about what would happen after that; the prospect was truly terrifying.

But even with that likelihood hanging over her head, she wishes at the same time that Cliff could just… do _something_ with Albel so she would not have to deal with him pining. Not that she deals with him as much as she had when they were both more heavily involved in Quark's activities, but even with her primary work being her father's dojo, it seems that more often than not she is still playing confidant to Cliff's emotional turmoil. It had been rather amusing the first few times, but now it is just repetitive. She imagines that Nel has a worse time than her though, seeing how Nel has easier access to the object of Cliff's affections and must probably have to endure constant questionings of his every movement. It amazes her that Nel even bothers picking up the communicator when Cliff calls instead of following Albel's steps and doing away with the thing.

It would be a lot easier on all of them if Cliff does get what he wants and they make the trip to Elicoor. Not that he really needs her permission, seeing how he is more than capable of going himself. The fact that he is not seems to her to be another sign that he is, in his way, hesitating. Just as he has been hesitating for the past year, distracting himself with the diplomatic journeys that seem to always _conveniently_ have him busy when Fayt and Sophia are on their holiday breaks and actually have the time for a long trip.

Which brings her to the question of what has prompted this sudden change of heart. Has he finally decided that enough is enough and decided to bring all this wondering and emotional semi-angsting to an end? If it was not for the fact that it is just so sudden, she might have been able to believe it. But since it is sudden and just so… random, she has to wonder what else is going on in Cliff Fittir's brain.

"She seemed worried."

She looks at him, and sees that the fanatic grin on his face is no longer there, replaced by a serious expression that is not so often on Cliff's face. "What makes you think that?"

He smiles sheepishly, "I suppose I can't just say it's a hunch and leave it at that?"

"No, Cliff. You cannot," she replies patiently. "Unless you would like me to beat it out of you."

Cliff laughs, putting his free hand up in the universal 'surrender' position. But he does, at least, answer the question. "This isn't the first time I asked her what she thought about us coming down for a visit. But it is the first time she changed the subject on me."

"Maybe she was just irritated," she suggests quietly even though she does not even believe it herself.

"Nah," he dismisses, frowning slightly as he tries to come up with a way to explain his 'hunch'. "It seemed like something more than that. You know Nel… when she gets irritated she gets angry. She has quite a temper, even though she's pretty good at hiding it. But this time, it was like she was hiding something. Something that she doesn't want any of us knowing about."

"And because of that, you want to go there and get the truth out of her?"

He shrugs, "I guess you could say that. I mean, it'll have to be something pretty big to make her act like that. And what could be so big when they're supposed to be in the middle of a truce?"

"Just because they have stopped fighting doesn't mean there won't be some conflicts still. From what I picked up while you and Fayt were gallivanting across the continent, there is no lost love between the two countries, especially after some of the things Airyglyph has done. I doubt the peace will be able to erase that sentiment so easily."

"But it's been a year, Mirage. If it was last year maybe that would make sense, but by now things should be calming down instead of getting worse. And even if things aren't going the way they had hoped, she's had a year to deal with all of that. Why would she suddenly be acting weird _now_?"

Mirage does not have an explanation for that, even though the rational part of her mind is continuing to argue that Cliff's concerns can very well be simply misplaced. He could just be reading into things, latching onto something he _wants_ to hear so that he has an excuse to go down to Elicoor that has nothing to do with Albel. But even though she knows that it a very valid explanation for all of this, she also has no real reason to doubt Cliff either. Considering how long she has known him, perhaps she does not even have the right to question his motives. Cliff is worried, and that is really enough for her. She trusts his judgment even if it might be made with a bias in mind, but that does not necessarily make his logic automatically faulty.

But _just_ to make sure… "You haven't been drinking recently, have you?"

"Completely sober." And then he gives her the _look_. _Trust me_, it says.

She does. Maybe someone would say that in this case, she is not being cynical enough. But she could do worse than to put her faith in Cliff, and many people _would_. Mirage is not one of those people though, and so she just extricates herself from the arm that is still slung around her shoulders and says, "I'll call Maria then. When were you thinking about leaving?'

"Maybe in the next two or three days." _Thanks_, it goes unsaid.

"I'll let her know." _You're welcome_.

End Notes:  
Ah, and Cliff finally shows up. I'm oddly fond of this chapter, but it's possibly because I secretly adore Mirage just because she's so calm in the face of… Cliff, I guess.  
PM


	9. Albel Nox Take IV

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: No notes, except that I've cut my hair and am still at work sewing the squares onto my cosplay outfit. Have managed not to prick my fingers just yet, but it's probably only a matter of time.  
Anyhow, thanks to the readers, reviewers, and sweetie Sahara-darling!

_nine_

Albel seems to have occupied the majority of the past few days with feelings of rabid hatred. But then there are a lot of things to hate. His primary targets have been Vox, himself, Vox, the damn _world_, and Vox. Not necessarily in that order. But his hatred is starting to reach record levels, and he knows that if he keeps going on like this, he might very well drive himself more mad than he's already said to be. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but if he really does go insane it'll just make it harder to figure out the truth of what is going on.

So he stands and walks over to the door, pauses, and then slams it open. It would have been very embarrassing if the door was locked, but he knows that it's not. The old room could be locked from the outside, and the guards took every advantage of that fact. But this is Vox's room. Vox's room does not lock from the outside. It locks from the inside. Which may make one wonder why he didn't do this earlier, but right now that's beside the point.

The maggots practically jump out of their skin as he emerges from the hellhole, and he sneers. They obviously weren't expecting this, which is ridiculous. What other reason would they be here for?

He eyes them for a moment, watching as they try to compose themselves. No point in that really, it's not like his opinion matters to anyone anyway. Not that he's bitter. Not that he _cares_. His opinion has never really mattered, and it never had to. He was a tool for the king to use in the name of advancing the needs of the kingdom, and he knew that. He understood that, and hence he had no interest whatsoever in gaining any political power. He knew his position and he stayed in those confines, and anyway politics was way too messy for him. All the formal niceties were lost upon him, and he preferred to end his conflicts with bloodshed (not his, of course) than paperwork. It was a lot easier, for one thing. Plus he didn't like paperwork, which was the one and _only _reason why he had _subordinates_.

But that's beside the point right now. The guards are looking distinctly uncomfortable, eyeballing each other as if in the hope that doing so would somehow give them enough collective intelligence to decide what to do. He doesn't have time for that, seeing how it will be an eternity before it comes down to such miracles happening. The guards are really that stupid, after all, seeing how Vox chose them. Vox doesn't choose intelligent people to serve him. Intelligent people think, and just a little thinking is enough to see the idiocy of Vox's ways.

"I require a sword."

Silence follows the proclamation. They continue to glance at each other uneasily, and occasionally they stare at him too as if hoping he will just disappear. He doesn't. It's tempting, and he would if he could, just to make them squirm. But the only way of disappearing is to walk away, and that's a coward's act. He could attack them right here and now, but that would just be inviting embarrassment. He knows by now that these guards are also dead, even recognizing one of them as his own man. Although even then the loyalty had been more for Shelby, a foolish decision that led to his death at Kirlsa right alongside his former second-in-command.

He taps his foot on the ground, glaring at them. Finally, one of them decides to show that he does have some measure of spine and says—_squeaks_ is more like it; he's certain a meaningful glare will cause the man to piss in his pants, an amusing thought indeed—"That is out of the question."

It would have been _so_ much more impressive without the high-pitched shriek at the end.

He raises an eyebrow. "Afraid I'll kill you? Seeing how you're already _dead_, that seems like a foolish concern, maggot."

"That's not the point," the guard replies, now speaking slowly as if he is too stupid to understand. Humph. As if this fool is one to talk.

"Then what is it?" he asks, half mocking, half-irritated. It's not really that he could have expected anything else from these morons, but that doesn't mean he wants this either. He needs to let out his anger, needs to do _something _to prove that he's more alive than these corpses who have more freedom than him. He's spent too long sulking, and that's never been his style. He doubts anyone will play a willing victim, but that's nothing new. He's used to training by himself, and is desperate to prove that this body is good for something other than being the pretty _wife_, although that's really putting it nicely.

"You're not allowed," a second guard says, the one who used to be a member of the Black Brigade.

"Oh?" The word itself is meaningless, but the tone behind it implies slow and painful second deaths to anyone who wishes to elaborate further. It's a tone this maggot should be used to, unless death has done away with his memory along with any semblance to common sense he might once have possessed. Which wasn't much, all things considered. "On whose orders?"

"Nobody's."

He smirks, but does not turn to face the newcomer. It's not a familiar voice, but he recognizes the authority in it. Not that it makes a difference to him, but it's interesting to watch the fools immediately stiffen and greet their superior with a pathetic salute. There is a soft snort. Obviously whoever this is proves to be about as impressed with this lame gesture as Albel is.

The stranger passes by him without a word, and his eyes narrow as he realizes that this person is not familiar. Granted, he doesn't know nearly as much of the court as he should—'inept' was how Woltar described his social skills when feeling generous, and he never bothered to disagree with the assessment—but he'd remember someone like this, even if he didn't bother remembering a name. The man is taller than him but just as thin, with skin so pale it's almost white, as if he's never spent a day in the sun. Considering how much of the country is stranger to clear days, it's not _quite_ as disturbing a thought as it seems at first. But something about this man throws Albel off, although he's not sure what, and anyway he's not _too_ interested in finding out.

"And where can I find this Nobody?" he asks, a cold smile on his lips.

The stranger stares right back, not even a smile on his face although those flat, empty eyes somehow manage to look… amused could be a way of putting it, but it seems too strong a description. "Nowhere."

Strange. This man is strange, and not in any way Albel has ever seen. It's rather uncomfortable but he stands his ground, having had to put up with a lot more already than somebody's disturbing face and personality. "Then I will require a sword."

"I will escort you to the armory myself, my lady."

His mouth twitches at that, "I'm not a woman."

The dead eyes watch him, and he feels like he's being studied. It's not in a sexual way, thank god, but more as if he is being assessed for any particular value. He's not sure what that value is, and he doesn't ask. He just stares back, noticing the way the man's eyes seem to look straight through him than at him, and then right through the wall from there. He doesn't seem to be looking at anything at all, as if he isn't even capable of it.

Very strange indeed.

"But… sir!" a guard squeaks from behind. "Vox will-"

"It is my responsibility." Not will be. _Is_. As if this was something that has been decided from the start, although what that is he has no bloody clue. And nobody questions this, especially not the spineless guards who look one moment away from fainting due to being stared at like that. Not even glared. _Stared_.

A lot of this man seems to require a second explanation because normal descriptions don't seem to get it quite right. Because there is something very, very off about this man, and the way he acts and carries himself separates him not only from the usual morons that Vox seems to prefer employing, but from any person he has ever met. And Albel has met a lot of strange people, having traveled as much as he has with those strange outworlders. The only thing he can compare to this man is one of those strange computer program Proclaimers that had infested the worlds, something that was so devoid of emotions that it never seemed alive in the first place.

Whoever this is acts as if he is alive, but _not_ at the same time. He's not posing. He's just not living.

Besides, the very fact that he's not fawning over Vox's spit is more than enough to confirm that he's not one of Vox's men. He might be working with the man, but he's most certainly not working _for_ him.

All of this combines to make Albel wonder if this is the answer he has been searching for.

"Romero," the man introduces calmly. "My name is Romero."

"Like I care. I didn't ask for your name," he replies scathingly. It's an act. They both know it. But there's no sense in pointing that out, although it looks like Romero wouldn't give a shit anyway. The perfect face remains completely blank, as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"Of course."

They leave it at that.

* * *

The katana he's been given is crap compared to the Crimson Scourge—he wonders vaguely what they did with that sword anyway, and quickly brightens at the thought of some fool trying to use it and being driven mad as a result—and it's even crap compared to that damned Bent Sword that the high-pitched girl had created the one time they'd made the mistake of letting her anywhere near a forge. But it's a blade and it's better than nothing, and he smiles almost pleasantly at the familiar feel of a weapon in his hands.

What is not so familiar, however, is the ability to touch the blade with his left hand. Seeing how he hasn't had a left hand in a while and all.

About ten minutes in he realizes that the loss of the claw has affected his fighting style. He can no longer summon the immense power into his left palm, the flesh of his skin nowhere near tough enough to endure such massive destruction without destroying itself. He wonders fleetingly if this is something else Vox has deliberately deprived him of, but decides in the end that _that_ is just reading into things more than he probably should. But it's easy to get paranoid at a time like this.

Perhaps _especially_ at a time like this.

It doesn't help that Romero is watching him the entire time. He's never liked training with others. For one thing they tended to get irritated with him when he (accidentally) lopped off a limb that was in his way. For another, he just… doesn't like it.

It's gotten worse though, now. He's not sure why. It might just be Romero's presence because those flat eyes watching him like that is disturbing, to say the least. But he should be capable of ignoring it. So why isn't he?

He tries to think of other things as he swings the sword, trying to get a feel for… _anything_. He can't even try a more high-powered move, as he's fairly certain the blade will simply snap and probably take his head with it, if he's unlucky. Or lucky, depending on one's perspective. He's not suicidal enough… yet, anyway. He's not happy with the entire living thing when it involves Vox, but he's not stupid enough to want to off himself yet. That would be tantamount to conceding defeat. He's competitive by nature, and he's not about to get to that point. What he goes through in the nights… it's something he can bear. He doesn't like it, and he'll kill Vox for it, but he's not going to kill _himself_ to escape it. That's just cowardly. Even in his worst days after Glou Nox's death, he never seriously contemplated suicide. It's just not his style.

He prefers self-punishment, in a masochistic sort of way.

Sometimes he wonders if maybe it's been enough, what he has put himself through. His time with the outworlders had certainly made him wonder about that. The world they were from… nobody would have died from a dragon's breath. Things like the Accession of the Flame didn't even exist, and he could tell from the few times they had talked about it that they thought the practice barbaric. But then, they didn't understand when they could instead go through life without really having to fight to simply _survive_ because everything was handed to them. And while he doesn't agree with that lifestyle, it's a different perspective that is starting to seep into his way of thinking. He knows it's affected Zelpher the same way. They've changed, and they can't go back to being the way they were before the interference. They can try, but it won't work.

So instead they've thrown themselves into the work they have here, trying to prove that they can go back to their previous duties without blinking an eye. But sometimes he has to stop and wonder about how ridiculous some of the things he's always accepted seem compared to the way they _could_ be done.

And he wonders about the way things could have _been_ as well. Which is something he can happily blame on Fittir, even if that is acknowledging the fact that the ox might be something more than an annoyance. Especially considering how the moron has started to infect his thoughts, especially as of late.

For a while, with as many duties as he'd had, it was easy to busy himself into ignoring Fittir and their time together. Now, where he has spent the past few days with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company until the slight pangs of panic started to kick in when evening drew close, he has nothing else to do but think.

It's _irritating_, to say the least, particularly when there's little rhyme and reason to said thoughts.

"Ox," he hisses under his breath, the insult lost as he slashes viciously, the sound of the blade cutting through air—well, attempting anyway—covering for his moment of anger. "Should have stayed on your damn planet. Always interfering. _Always_ getting involved. It's none of your business, never was, why the _hell_ did you delude yourself into ever thinking otherwise?"

And after a while he has to wonder who he's even talking to. After all, he's the one who pulled the fool down into a kiss, but in his defense it was the _only way_ to make the man shut up about his lack of social skills (which wasn't even _true_. He had social skills; he just never bothered to apply them).

He'd never kissed anyone before. It probably showed. He hadn't cared, and apparently Fittir hadn't either.

They'd never really talked about it after. They'd never really done much about it either. It hung there, instead, over their heads like a rotten stench. Except it wasn't really quite that bad, although he'd never admit it.

Maybe they should have talked about it. It's too late for regrets now though, but although he tries not to, he seems to spend a lot of his time wondering about those 'what if's'. What if he hadn't made a spectacular failure of himself? What if his father hadn't died? What if he'd let Fittir ask the damned question?

What if he'd said yes?

What if the trees turned bright pink and decided to take over the world? Who the hell _cares_ about those 'what if's'? They don't change anything. They don't do anything. But he thinks about them endlessly, and it's such a waste of time that he almost hates himself for indulging like that.

"Are you finished?"

He is surprised by the soft question, not having realized that he's even stopped. He turns, slowly, to face Romero.

Does the man ever blink?

"For now," he responds, trying not to flinch away from those eyes. He can't possibly be human, can he? The question is on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be asked, but he keeps it back through superior will. Or maybe it's just because he knows the question won't make it out of his mouth anyway, already withering away under that strange gaze. He lets a slight smile slip onto his face though, even though there's nothing to smile about. But he needs to keep up appearances. He needs to keep up the act that everything is _fine_, if only for himself. Because if he lets it slip, if he lets the reality start to hit home, he might just lose it. He's already starting, if his current thoughts are to be of any damn indication. Since when does Cliff Fittir start making appearances in his thoughts, for example? The bastard needs to stay _out_, not make his way in like some overprotective leech.

It's not just that though. It's everything. He tries not to think about it, but come evening and he's on his way to becoming a nervous wreck. He'll never admit it, and he certainly can't show it. So he bottles it up and he knows if things go on like that that it'll just build up to the point of just blowing up in his face like a powerful attack gone wrong, and there'd be no damn way of ever repairing that sort of damage.

But he doesn't know any other way to respond. He never has. Maybe that's why he's socially inept, and why his men fear him, and why his father died, and why nothing ever seems to go the way he needs it to go. It's all his fault. He can live with that. But he can't live with the full consequences of it. He can't survive the inevitable crash. He knows it and it just fuels the feigned ignorance, and the process keeps going on and on and _on_ until the only thing he can do is smile at the thrice-damned irony.

And so he does. Because really, that's all he can do right now.

End Notes:  
And thereeeeeee is plot! Or a semblence of it….


	10. Nel Zelpher Take III

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: Woot, finished my outfit! In case you haven't heard it already, I am cosplaying as Kamatari from Rurouni Kenshin this year (last year was Jakotsu; trend, anyone?) for Anime Expo. My roomie is helping me out (aka doing all the work) with the scythe he carries, and it looks awesome even though it isn't even done yet. But still!  
Anyway, many thanks to the reviewers and readers. I hope you are enjoying this ficcu as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
And of course, much thanks to Sahara Storm, who very nicely beta-ed this for me.

_ten_

The news that has been coming in for the past few days has gone from bad to worse, and Nel is starting to suspect that she'll die from the stress before the fighting actually manages to reach Aquios. The worst thing about that sentiment is the fact that it really isn't going to be a very long time before the Airyglyph army reaches the capital, considering how far Vox's men have moved in the past few days.

She's going over the maps when the communicator starts beeping, causing her to jerk as if shot. She's almost completely forgotten about that _other_ complication, although she sometimes wishes that she could have been a little more successful in really putting it all behind her. But it's always there in the back of her mind, causing her to jerk up in those precious hours when she has time to sleep, which is far and few in-between as it is.

She's up before she can completely register what is going on, grabbing the technological nightmare from the half-open drawer and immediately finding herself face-to-face not with Cliff, but with Mirage. She blinks, taken aback as the blonde waves, a reserved smile on her face, "Hello, Nel."

"Hello Mirage," she replies, trying not to look too surprised by the fact that it's her and not someone else. This is not to imply that she isn't pleased to see the other woman, but she had been expecting… well, to be honest she hadn't really been expecting anyone because she hadn't been sure exactly what Cliff's intentions _were_, but on the offhand chance that he really did tell someone else, she had assumed that Fayt or Maria would be the one to contact her. Maybe then she wouldn't be so flustered right now. It's not that she doesn't like Mirage because she _does_, really, but she isn't as close to her as she is with the others and as a result, she's just not as _comfortable_. She considers Mirage a comrade and friend, of course, but she didn't get to know the blonde until the end of their journey, and by that point they were too busy trying to save the universe that they never really had time to just sit down and talk.

Despite this, the impression that she managed to get is that Mirage is an intelligent, sensible woman, and may possibly be the missing sanity that Cliff has lost. This might really explain this current situation as they stare at each other, waiting patiently for the other person to speak. After all, Mirage seems to be Cliff's closest friend, and it would make sense that she would be the first person Cliff spoke to when discussing his plans to visit Elicoor II. Unfortunately, sense is rapidly starting to make a lot _less_ sense with each day as the stress and lack of sleep are starting to take a toll on Nel's brain functions. It is apparently taken a toll on her appearance as well because Mirage decides to get straight to the point and asks, "Exactly how bad are things over there?"

She tries her best not to wince at the blunt question. She isn't sure why she's so flustered by it, considering how it really isn't too difficult to explain why this is simply not a good time for them to come down for a pleasure trip. She's been living this reality for enough time to make her want to cry and wish the world really had been erased because then she would not have to deal with this, no matter how cowardly that would seem. But that isn't an option, and so she simply tries to find the words to explain what is happening without sounding too much like a madwoman. Because once you got down to it and analyzed the situation rationally, it really does seem like their current nightmare is something out of a fantasy novel by an author with a sadistic streak.

A part of her almost wants to try lying, but what is the point of that? In fact, what is the point of even trying to explain? She knows, deep down, that telling them the full extent of current happenings will have them down here in a heartbeat, ready to save the world again. Why she's resisting this is a completely different story; who wouldn't appreciate some technologically advanced beings on their side? It might just be what they need to turn the tide, and it wasn't as if this would be the first time she asked for help. The entire basis for their meeting was because Aquaria needed their help to complete their runological weapons, and so what is the difference this time around if she should ask for their help again?

But perhaps Nox is right, and they cannot be dependent on outsiders to help solve their problems. What right do they have to ask anyway? They fought together, yes, but that had been for their mutual benefit. If Luther had not been stopped, they _all_ would have been affected by it. Even if Elicoor was completely destroyed by this war, it wouldn't have a direct effect on them. Not really, anyway.

"It's not good," she finally says.

A gross understatement, of course, and a terribly inadequate answer. Both of them know it, but Mirage waits a few moments to give her time to elaborate. When she doesn't, Mirage prompts gently, "More specifically…?"

She bites back the desperate urge to ask if they've possibly invented a weapon that could kill the undead, instead trying to concentrate on what needs to be done. But how exactly does one explain any of this without sounding completely crazy? Granted, they know now that the reality they are in was artificially created by superior beings, and compared to that what could possibly be stranger? In the context of her personal reality though, Nel is finding Elicoor's current predicament pretty strange in its own right.

But she has to say something. Mirage knows already that there is something wrong, and she has no doubt that Cliff does as well. The man might act as if he's all brawn and no brains, but he's really quite sharp underneath that unassuming manner. There's no denying what they all know already, and so now it's just a matter of confirming their suspicions.

This is easier said than done though. Maybe she could have done it earlier, but right now she's in the middle of trying not to have a mental breakdown. The reports have gotten more bloody with each one, and there seems no end to the bad news that she has to compile in her reports to the queen and the magistrate. It's becoming too much and it should be easy to vent it all out, but Nel has never been the type of person to do such a thing. She prefers to solve the problems on her own so that she doesn't _need_ that outlet, but it's no longer an option. She needs to let it out quickly, and what better opportunity than this will she ever have?

"Vox is back," she begins abruptly, and then there's nothing holding her back. She doesn't even bother to stop and ask if Mirage knows who Vox even _is_, but just keeps going forward, "He's taken over Airyglyph and redeclared war. They didn't even give us time to evacuate our citizens, instead just killing anyone they could get their hands on. Citizens of the Sanmite Republic have also been caught up in the bloodshed, and even the citizens of Airyglyph have died. But it doesn't matter to them. I don't even think anything does, considering how they're all _dead_. Vox, the majority of his men… they're not even alive, just corpses. Corpses that are somehow animate enough to cause so much destruction, and immune to most of our attempts to stop them. Our weapons do little against them unless the body is completely cut apart, and only the most powerful fire spells can truly take them down. But it's not enough, it's not nearly enough, and it's only a matter of time before they will reach Aquaria."

And what then? Nel doesn't like to think about the what then because the answer terrifies her. The previous war had started in part because Airyglyph was seeking to expand its lands to more agriculturally suitable lands, but what does an army of dead need with fertile land and crops? They don't have to eat, and from the reports she's gotten, the land they have taken has been completely destroyed so that agriculture is barely a viable option anymore. She doubts that Vox is attempting to conquer Aquaria for the resources her country has to offer, which then begs the question of what the intent _is._

Deep down, she knows that bloodshed might be the only reason at this point. And when the enemy's goal is your death and destruction, there is no option of a peaceful surrender or anything of the sort. The only option left is to fight back, but against this enemy they're terribly outnumbered. The runologists capable of taking out these corpses are few, and those trained in traditional weapons are useless when the enemy just plucks the arrows out of their chest and continue on as if nothing has happened. How does one fight an enemy like that? _How_?

You can't, is the logical answer. You can't, is the answer Vox seems determined to engrain in their skulls. But if they reach that point then there really will be no hope, and then what are they to do?

"Nel, calm down," Mirage says, her voice a soothing force. The blonde is only four years older and yet there is something about her that exudes calmness, almost in the same way that Queen Aquaria is never prone to panic. The stress and hysteria is still _there_, but it's controllable now. Controllable enough that she can think instead of obsessing over the numbers that her reports contain of deaths and innocent people uprooted from their lives. How much more can any of them take? "Cliff was worried that something like this might be happening. He didn't want to call you on it but… well, I think you know by now that we're coming down."

Nel shakes her head even though every fiber of her being wants to scream for them to come _immediately_ and do something, although what she has no idea. But it isn't fair to ask for so much, and the rational part of her says, "You can't. Or you shouldn't. This isn't your problem, and you should not have to get involved. We cannot ask you to do this for us."

"You helped us last time."

"That was different. I wasn't just helping you; I was helping my people too. We all were. We were all affected by what was happening with the 4-D beings, but this is different. You're not a part of it, and-"

"Do you really think we can stand aside and watch as you get slaughtered?" Mirage asks quietly. "If we get involved, it isn't because you made us. It's because we want to."

"But… but that treaty," Nel says, trying to remember the exact details of what Fayt had explained to her once after she had managed to pry the truth of their identities from them. "I thought you couldn't get involved, that you would have your own problems to deal with if-"

Mirage laughs, cutting her off, but it's not a cruel laugh. It's more self-depreciating than anything as Mirage gives her a wry smile, "Most of us haven't been on the right side of the law for a while now. This wouldn't really change anything. Besides, the Federation is wary of dealing with us when not only did we save the universe from destruction, but… well, even they haven't forgotten that Fayt is the embodiment of destruction and all that, and not to mention Maria and Sophia's respective powers as well."

Now Nel is having problems thinking of other excuses—no, reasons for them not to have to come down. It probably does not help that she simply does not want to come up with any more, which might explain why she is failing to come up with anything. She wonders fleetingly what Nox would have to say, but the only thing she can come up with is some tiresome monologue about how worms and maggots should mind their own business and that he can take care of everything on his own even though he obviously cannot, and he'd be a fool himself to try although she would probably be missing some vital organs before she could finish _that_ sentence.

Speaking of Nox….

"Albel will be upset," she says, although she doesn't really know why that matters so much. Nox is _always_ upset, but suddenly she realizes that if they are really coming down here, if they are really going to be able to help them… not just Aquaria but Airyglyph as well because the slaughter isn't exactly limited in its scope, she needs to let them know about what has happened to Albel Nox.

But exactly how to explain that the entire reason for Cliff bringing this topic up in the first place is currently married? And not to mention, _female_. Why, it sounds even crazier than the army of dead, and that is already pushing the limits of believability.

"Cliff can deal with it," Mirage replies simply, the look in her eye saying that Cliff _deserves_ anything Nox can throw at him, but Nel doesn't think he is quite prepared for reality.

"No… Mirage, Albel is… he's not…" she struggles to find a way to adequately explain the gravity of Nox's situation, a task that she is finding more difficult than even admitting that they were on their way to being destroyed by the army from hell, "… he's not… he's different. Vox did something to him. He's not even a _him_ anymore. I know this sounds crazy but Vox… I don't really know what Vox did and Albel wasn't being very forthcoming but he's a woman now. And married to Vox, if the reports are true."

She remembers how she had stared at the footnote on one of her reports, the note simply stated that Vox had been wed to one Albel Nox, the ceremony having been performed by Airyglyph XIII himself. Her first reaction had been not to believe it because the Nox she knows would never allow such a thing to happen, but stranger things have happened in the past few days. Like the fact that he's stayed behind to try and figure out the truth behind Vox's reappearance, although what good that will do she really has no idea. It's not that she thinks Nox is being foolish, but she's worried that he doesn't know what he's gotten himself into. Being the wife to a madman cannot be good, especially considering what else has happened to him.

Mirage has yet to reply to this revelation, although Nel isn't really sure how she can. This news is more than a little startling and disturbing at that, and the normal reaction would be to ask if she has been drinking or, if it is Claire, asking if she has taken to hitting herself in the head with her dagger hilts. But Mirage is not that type of person, and she doesn't really know what kind of reaction people like Mirage could have to something like this.

"I'll tell Cliff," Mirage finally says. It's an inadequate response, to say the least, but under the circumstances it's more than Nel could have expected. Reasonably, anyway, and at the moment Nel is not sure she falls into the category of _reasonable_, but then Mirage adds, "He might be pleased. He likes breasts."

Nel _laughs_. She can't help it, and it's really not the time for it, but something about the matter-of-fact way Mirage put it and the fact that they might be getting help and the fact that they might _not_ really be facing their destruction after all, and Nel finally just laughs for the first time since any of this has started. It doesn't last long, but the very fact that it _happened_ is enough for her right now, and Mirage looks pleased that she has managed to help out in this way, at least.

"I know you don't like the idea that we're coming," she says simply when the laughter finally dies down enough that Nel can pay proper attention, "but none of us like the idea that you might all be destroyed either. It may be selfish, but we can't just sit back and let you all get wiped out by something that shouldn't exist. Besides, Vox is indirectly our fault too, since he might never have died if it wasn't for Cliff and Fayt being there. And then what might have happened?"

Well, things might have ended up this way anyway, but Nel bites back that point. After all, things could have been better too. But it does not matter how things could have been as long as you needed to worry about how things currently were because what was the point of that? They have more than enough troubles in their present to worry about a vague alternate reality.

"Thank you, Mirage," she says finally. And it really is such an inadequate response, but what else is she supposed to say right now?

"No problem. We've already contacted the others. Maria's here already and we're on our way to pick up Fayt and Sophia. We were planning on making a direct course for Elicoor after that, but with your new information I think we might need to make some plans first."

She almost stammers another thanks, but training takes over and instead she starts to stand, "I will need to inform the queen of this development."

"Sure. We'll try to be there as soon as possible, and we'll let you know when we're in the vicinity. You can hang on until then, right?"

Nel gives her a sardonic smile, but even then it's still the first honest smile she's managed to get out in days, "It is not like we have a choice. If worse comes to worst, we can always send Adray. He's gotten restless since Clair has sworn off marriage, and I think he'll be happy to have something to do now that his plans have gone astray."

Somehow Mirage manages to keep a straight face as she remarks dryly, "Well, if there is one thing that can terrify an army of dead, I think Adray might just be it."

Either that or Albel Nox PMSing, but Nel wisely decides to keep that last thought to herself.

End Notes:  
Albel PMSing is a terrifying prospect indeed. Yet I have a feeling I would laugh if it happened, as long as I was a safe distance away. With protective shields, preferably….

PM


	11. Arzei Bohnleid Take III

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: I don't know if I will be updating this fic next week because I'll be at AX. I'm still going to be at home, but I might be too busy to update. So chapter twelve will either be up on July 1 or July 8.

_eleven_

Arzei has not been in the conference room for very long when Albel storms in, somehow managing to slam the door open even though he is cradling a bloody left arm. He is torn between asking how Albel managed such a feat when both arms were occupied or wondering if he should inquire to the injury, but in the end the internal debate is settled for him as his stare is apparently more than enough to provoke the captain into snapping, "Training accident."

He raises an eyebrow but chooses not to ask the obvious question of exactly _how_ Albel got the wound, as Albel does not look like he is in a speaking mood right now. It does not matter that much anyway; he has a feeling that he might just know already. After all, although Albel might be used to some of the more awkward of his… physical changes, when it comes to fighting old habits are hard to break. To say that Albel never liked the metal replacement for his left arm is a gross understatement, but at the same time the captain did integrate it fully into his fighting style, and suddenly losing it was going to take some time to adjust to even if Albel refused to admit it. Going from that, it was more than possible that the injury had come from a simple defensive move by momentarily forgetting that the left arm was no longer metal and able to withstand attack.

In which case, the question then becomes more a matter of who could have caused the injury, unless Albel is suddenly prone to masochistic tendencies. Well, more masochistic than he already is, anyway.

Knowing who Albel's training partner is might answer a few questions that Arzei has been dying to ask, although he has never quite had the opportunity to. Asking might just be the death of him as it is, seeing how it is a question that he doubts Albel or Vox have any interest in answering. But he does not really understand what could possibly have prompted Vox to allow Albel to start training again, although he had heard some rumors about Albel destroying all of the furniture of his previous room. This could just be an easier way of saving some money, but all joking aside, Vox does not seem like the type of person who will risk so much to appease anyone. Albel might be under the constant supervision of guards, and Vox might be immune to death in the conventional way, but that does not mean the captain is no longer a threat. He is perhaps more of a threat than even Arzei is, which may be why Vox chooses to keep him in such close proximity.

There is another reason though, one that he usually does not think much on. But considering the circumstances, these days he does not really have much else to do but ponder the state of his country, and so it is no wonder that he is constantly trying to figure out why Vox went to such lengths to remove a rival without really ever succeeding in doing so. Vox might have—_still--_humiliated Albel, but despite what is clearly happening inside their bedroom, Albel is still being given freedoms that seem contrary to the ultimate goal of breaking him down. Somehow Arzei doubts that Vox is willingly allowing these changes, especially when taking into account the definite chill in Vox's attitude as of late. His uncle has always been short-tempered, to put it lightly, and if the men serving under him had not already dead, he has a feeling that some of them would be by now. He cannot be certain that this increased independence is the source of Vox's recent antagonism, but it seems like a pretty decent explanation with the given evidence.

"You should get that fixed," he finds himself saying instead of asking Albel for his opinion on the subject or perhaps inquiring as to the identity of the person who caused the wound. But Arzei is a reasonable man, and reasonable men know how to avoid situations that might get their heads ripped off as Albel is _not_ looking like he is in the mood for a third degree. Normally Arzei would just ignore that expression, but it seems rather more bloodthirsty than usual and he is not at all interested in having his neck gnawed on. He does not know exactly why Albel looks so irritated; it might be the pain from the cut that really does _not_ look good, or it might be something deeper like a higher than normal level of self-loathing for making a stupid mistake that could result in such an injury. Knowing Albel, it is most likely the latter, although he supposes that the pain is probably not helping out very much either.

"I would if that fucking bastard wasn't calling this damned meeting," Albel snaps as blood continues to drip onto the once priceless carpet. "Bastard isn't even here. What the fuck would he want anyway? It's not like he gives a shit about what we have to say. This looks to me like it's just another damn opportunity for him to lord his superiority complex over us _again_. In which case I'm _leaving_ before he can waste my time."

Arzei decides quickly that he likes breathing enough not to point out that lording is most likely exactly what Vox wants to do, and Albel already knows that. Which begs the question of why he still came here instead of going to the infirmary or cleaning the wound himself, unless perhaps there is something else going on. That would not surprise him in the least, really, as it seems that nowadays there is always _something else_ going on.

"We could clean it while we wait. It might get infected," he says mildly, to which Albel gives him the _look_. It has enough anger in it to cause grown men to run in the opposite direction crying for their security blankets, but Arzei has built up an immunity to it some time ago. He might not have possessed the same military prowess that Albel, Woltar, and Vox did, but the ability to not be intimidated by this fact was only one reason why he managed to stay on the throne instead of letting it slip into another's hands.

Well, before the takeover anyway. What is happening now does not really count quite as much, since it is difficult _not _to be intimidated by the zombie of your uncle. Albel manages it nicely, but then Albel has always been a little on the odd side.

That thought, unfortunately, gets pushed aside when Albel resorts to something that strongly resembles a sulk. He nearly gapes even though he has a feeling that this is not even being done on purpose, but before he can comment on it the door suddenly opens and Vox walks in. Or waltzes, depending on one's point of view. Albel's opinion is clear on this as his pout immediately turns to a sneer—although that might just be the fact that he has a reputation to maintain, and sulking does not really help maintain it—and Vox glares at him. The look immediately falls to the bloody arm as Vox demands sharply, "What happened there?"

"I fell," Albel replies with a maddening smile.

"And a fall caused an injury like that?" Vox asks with a tone that implies that if it was _anybody else_, he might have been willing to suspend disbelief. In fact, if he gets a good reason, he might still be willing to go so far, but everyone knows that the likelihood of a reasonable explanation _other_ than the truth is virtually nonexistent.

"Why not?" Albel shoots back. "I've seen you get worse injuries from all those times your dragon bucked you off. That counts as falling _too_."

"I never-" The thought does not get very far as Vox quickly realizes that he is doing exactly what Albel wants him to do—participating in a useless argument. His voice drops to the dangerous tone that also makes grown men cry and run in the opposite direction, although of course it has no effect on Albel who is countering its effects with his own dark glare. "You think this is a game, Nox? You think this war is a game?"

"Seeing how it is your war and I want nothing to do with it, yes. That's exactly what I think this is," Albel replies.

"It was your incompetence that lost us the war the first time around!"

"Is it also my fault that celestial ships came out of the sky and blew you up? Although I have to admit that I did try to send them thank you gifts afterwards for ridding the world of your accursed presence."

Vox opens his mouth to respond but closes it almost immediately, as if realizing that there really is no point in continuing this conversation. There is no point in even bothering to pretend that Albel might calm down enough so that Vox can properly monologue, as Albel has that rather interesting habit of cutting in every other line to make nasty remarks, and it is really quite difficult to speak when one is being insulted. Albel smirks, as if realizing exactly what has prompted Vox to not respond, but from the look in his red eyes Arzei is certain that he is not about to let this matter drop quite so easily. For Albel, this is entertainment. For everyone else, his enjoyment can become deadly or at the very least, mind-numbing.

"What did you wish to discuss, Vox?" Arzei decides to interrupt the glaring contest, as he does not think the furniture can survive a fight between the two. Nor the rather slight remains of his sanity, which is already pleading for mercy. After all, although Albel's arm is still bleeding all over the floor, the captain can be vicious when he is angry, regardless of any injuries. And Vox does not quite understand the concept of holding back, no matter what the circumstances are. To be honest, he is not really sure how the two of them have even managed to survive the days since the wedding, seeing how Albel is not exactly the type of person who will submit willingly. He does not ask, of course, because Vox would just smirk and Albel… he does not really know how Albel would react. Albel has always been unpredictable, and considering what has happened to him, it is difficult to predict how anyone would really react. He could have asked, of course, but this is not exactly the kind of thing one can just ask. Besides, he doubts Albel needs any reminders of what is happening to him on a daily basis. It is one of the few things Arzei can do for the captain—not asking. It is not as if the opportunity to discuss such things has come up very often anyway, considering how this is the first time they have been able to meet since the wedding. Vox keeps Albel on a short leash—rightfully so since Albel is the type of person who can cause a great deal of trouble with just that—which in a way strikes him as slightly ironic seeing how Albel has finally stopped wearing that metal collar around his neck.

That is slightly beside the point, but nevertheless….

Vox turns his attention to Arzei, and Albel growls in the background at being ignored. But both of them ignore that as Vox says in a no-nonsense tone that Arzei remembers from his childhood, "The preparations for the invasion of Aquaria are nearly complete. I will be leaving with the army in three days." There is a pause as Vox eyes Albel for a moment, but when Albel says nothing he shrugs slightly and continues. "I will be leaving Demetrio here to take charge of the castle. I expect that you will give him the same… courtesy that you have given me, and not attempt to use the change to your advantage."

What advantage? Arzei longs to say, but before he can do anything so foolish Albel does it for him, smirking, "Well, this ought to be good. Why don't you just leave Shelby behind if you want the castle to be razed to the ground? He'll get the job done a lot faster than that incompetent moron Demetrio, and he'll throw in Kirlsa too."

Arzei sighs, feeling a headache coming on. He does not even know why he is here, considering how this seems to be a showdown between Vox and Albel more than anything else. Do they not argue enough during their free time, or does Vox not give Albel that opportunity when they are alone? Or is Albel simply acting out to prove that despite what Vox has and is doing to him, he is not about to just lay down and take it? In which case he will need a witness to this act, although Arzei is starting to wish that it could have been someone else… perhaps Albel's mysterious training partner, for example.

"You won't be around to find out," Vox replies coldly. "You will be coming with us."

Albel is obviously unhappy with this prospect as he growls, "Unless you're letting me lead an army, I beg to differ."

"Don't be foolish," Vox snaps. "Considering the mess you made of it the last time, only an idiot would make the mistake of letting you lead anything. You were incompetent then and you have given me no reason to believe that you will be competent now. Besides," he smiles at Albel's soft snarl, "the men wouldn't follow someone like you, especially now."

"If you are done pointing out the obvious, it is my turn to inform you that whores always follow large armies and will be more than happy to service you all, even if the majority of you are already dead and have tiny-"

When Albel is on a roll like this, it is really quite impossible to get him to stop except through the use of physical force. Apparently Vox has caught onto this little lesson because he quickly backhands Albel, effectively cutting him off. Unfortunately, it does not last for nearly long enough.

"Don't worry. If you pay them enough, they might not laugh and even if they do, you'll just have another excuse for killing them since you couldn't-"

"Do you think this is going to work?" Vox demands. "Do you honestly think that if you bait me long enough, I'll just leave you behind to wreak havoc in my absence?"

"Bah, you're giving yourself too much credit." Albel follows this up with a smile as wicked as his often-used nickname. "Besides, it's working, isn't it?"

"No," Vox hisses.

"Well, in that case, you slap like a girl. And I'd know. Is that why you're doing this? Trying to prove your manliness to your men? I'm sure they don't mind. In fact, it seems to me that the lot of them would just _die_ for the chance to sleep with you. I think they might even be jealous of me. So jealous and so _desperate_, in fact, that they might even let you do the fucking so their dragons don't get jealous."

This slap sounds harsher than the first, and Arzei can only sigh again. It's audible this time since Albel actually stays quiet this time, but nobody is paying attention to him as Vox asks coldly, "Do you have any more stupid questions now?"

Please say no, Arzei can only think. Or barring that because Albel's personality will simply not allow for the subject to be dropped, have some higher deity strike him with lightning. Granted, they are indoors, but if the building is to catch on fire, they might be able to put this conversation off for another week, and the loss of his eardrums by at least two.

"Perhaps. Like why aren't you already out there pillaging and causing all sorts of good, clean violence? After all, you have plenty of men already running around like cockroaches in Aquaria burning everything they can get their grubby hands on since before the wedding, and-"

And Albel sees his face and the surprise on it because this is something that he has _not_ heard about, despite the fact that he has spent the majority of his time—and there is quite a bit of that, seeing how a figurehead really has nothing much to do—gathering as much information as he possibly can. He has heard absolutely _nothing_ about this, and the fact registers in his expression as Albel quickly turns away to look at Vox, who is not smiling at all, not even in triumph.

"What would make you think that?" Vox asks in a tone that can only be described as _silky_. And very, very dangerous, something that even Albel can catch onto as he blinks. Just once, but it is as if he has suddenly realized that he is starting to tread into dangerous territory.

He covers up for it, or at least attempts to, by glaring, "I know you. That's more than enough."

"No, it isn't. Your majesty," Vox looks over at him, and Arzei keeps his face expressionless at the mocking title, although Vox is not deliberately meaning it in that way. At least, not this time, and that truly shows exactly how much danger Albel might be in right now. "Did you know about this?"

He keeps quiet, not knowing what to say that would not result in simply making the situation worse. Besides, he knows that it is too late to say anything. Albel was not the only one to see the surprise on his face; Vox saw it as well, and that is already more than enough to confirm his statements as he turns back to Albel. "As far as everyone here knows, we have still been in the middle of preparations. Even the majority of my men think the same thing. So how is it that you would know something that they do not, especially when you should know nothing? What evidence do you have that we have sent people in already?" Vox looks at him closely, not a trace of a smile on his face but simply cold anger. "Or perhaps, more precisely, what evidence do you have that nobody should know?"

Albel opens his mouth to speak, although what he could possibly say at this point Arzei does not know, but Vox is not interested in hearing any excuses. Instead he grabs Albel's bloody arm, making him wince as he hisses, "That Aquarian bitch. I'd heard the rumors that she was spotted in the city before the wedding, but I did not think….." He twists, causing Albel to snarl quietly from the pain. "It was her, wasn't it? She told you, and you didn't turn her in."

"You're right, you _don't_ think," Albel snarls back, trying to pull his arm away. "Why should I have done anything if she was here?"

Vox just tightens his grip in response as he demands, "Have you no loyalty to your country? Once a traitor, always a traitor? Is that how it is with you as well, to the point that you would aid the enemy again?"

Albel is starting to look a little white, but he still manages to hold back his pain so that he can say, "I have _never _aided the enemy, Vox, except in your imagination. In fact, all things considered, I would say that _you're_ the traitor."

"And how does that work, precisely?"

"Forwarding your own interests is _not_ the same as forwarding your country's." And with that, Albel does manage to shove Vox away this time with an anger that Arzei has not seen in Albel for quite a while. In fact, the last time he had really seen the captain lose his temper like this was when Glou Nox had died, and he had hoped that he would never have to witness such a thing ever again. Torn between his self-loathing and anger, Albel had become quite uncontrollable for a while, and the damage he had caused when Vox had been named Glou's successor had been terrifying, to say the least. It was one of the few times Arzei had truly been afraid of Albel, and although this time the anger is being directed at a single person rather than the entire world, there is still a sense that he would do very well to leave the room if he valued his life. But instead he is rooted in place, unable to do anything as Albel continued, "We had reasons to go to war the first time, but you never gave a shit for any of that, did you? Those reasons are _gone_ now, and this country cares _nothing_ for your war or your damned revenge. From what I've heard, they're suffering just as much as the Aquarians because of your zombies' love of bloodshed, and then some. How many of our people have died because of your ambitions? How many more will die for no reason other than the fact that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? You don't give a shit about this country, and-"

"You do?" Vox cuts in coldly, and Arzei must concede that he has a point since Albel is rather infamous for not caring about others. But whether or not that is truly deserved is questionable—Albel seems more than ready to disparage anyone and everyone, yet Arzei has never seen him leave someone truly helpless to die. Weakened through fair battle, yes, Albel would do nothing to save them, but civilians could be assured that in time of need, they would receive both his aid and a harsh tongue-lashing.

Albel sneers, "I don't deny that I don't give a rat's ass about those maggots, but then I'm not the one getting them all killed right now, am I?"

"If that sort of thinking makes you feel better, then carry on. It doesn't change any of your faults, and it doesn't change reality."

Judging from the slightly confused expression on Albel's face, he does not understand that last statement any better than Arzei does. Unfortunately, Vox does not look particularly interested in explaining it, instead stepping away from Albel. "It just goes to show that I really cannot leave you here, no matter how much of a hindrance you might prove to be. But I would rather deal with a little annoyance than risk you threatening the success of the war. _Again_."

He does not linger long enough for Albel to come up with anything else to say, instead leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. A long silence remains as Albel stares at the door and Arzei watches him before finally saying quietly, "You have really made him angry this time."

"It's the truth," Albel snaps back.

"It is," he allows simply. "But it is not the point. You are starting to tread into dangerous territory with Vox, Albel. He might decide to just get rid of you rather than risk you meddling with his plans."

"Don't lecture me," Albel snarls, but this is one point that Arzei is not willing to back down from as he shakes his head.

"You have already proven that your loyalty to Aquaria is greater than your loyalty to Vox. Which," he says sharply at the beginning of Albel's protest, "is not as much loyalty to anyone but a desire to undermine Vox. This is all understandable and I have no reason not to completely agree with you. But even then it is not advantageous to advertise this fact, especially for you as he has no real need to keep you alive. Your position of nobility makes you valuable, but only to the extent that it helps legitimize his claim to power. However, it seems that soon there will not be much need for that either, and it may become easier to get rid of you if you become a liability. Even if he does not simply decide to just get rid of you, there are… cruder methods of punishing you for your insubordination that he can take. I am sure you are also aware that he could easily give you over to his-"

"I would rather die," Albel cuts him off harshly, but both of them know that the threat has been made before with no real success. Albel said it before at the very beginning and yet here they both are, and a threat that is empty is not very effective at all.

Still, he lets a wry smile fall onto his face. "I am sure, then, that Romero will welcome you with open arms."

"I'm sure he-" Albel stops abruptly, turning to look at him with a frown, "You know of Romero?"

He blinks at the sudden _lack_ of anger in Albel's voice, and wonders for what can only be the hundredth time if the world has gone completely mad for Albel to inquire about fairytales. "Have you never heard the stories? Romero, the king of the dead, who chooses servants from the dying to serve him for all eternity? Why, what does it matter-Albel, wait!"

But unfortunately his inability to get people to listen to him is still in effect, and Albel is out the door without a backward glance. He could go after him but realizes rather quickly—and depressingly—that there will probably be no point in it. Albel would probably just attempt to scratch his eyeballs out and then run out, so he decides that it might be best to skip that step and go instead to the inevitable next one—figuring out exactly why Albel would care so much about a child's fairytale.

End Notes:  
So another reminder about the possibility of a delay in update next week. And there was something else… oh yes, I wasn't overly fond of the end of this chapter. But I wasn't really sure what else to do either, so that's why it ended up like this. Eek.  
Still need to edit chapter 15. I've only had time to make the changes my beta did so I still need to do a read through before I want to put it up. Luckily I still have… four weeks until then? Yes, I'm being overly lazy these days. Blame my PS2 (but don't hurt it for I love it).


	12. Albel Nox Take V

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: Sorry about the delay in updating! But I guess that sometimes I have to prove that I do have a life (just not much of one). Anime Expo was pretty fun this year, although it's probably because the cosplay was awesome to do (note: if you want to scar yourself for life, a picture of my cosplay is up on my livejournal).  
Anyhow, so yes. Here's a chapter twelve, courtesy of myself and my darling beta Sahara Storm.

_twelve_

He isn't surprised that Vox decided to have him locked in that goddamned stinking excuse of a room for the entirety of the three days until their scheduled departure, but it doesn't change the fact that his homicidal feelings have reached an all-time high in the process. He isn't sure if he's angry because he has been isolated or if it was because he had been fully intent on confronting Romero when he had been stopped halfway to the training grounds by two heavily armed guards, who had very calmly insisted that he return to his quarters. When he had tried to move past them, they had taken to more extreme measures—namely physically restraining and dragging him all the way back to the room. Which he had then been locked in for three days, with absolutely nothing to do but pace around the room like a caged cat. No one had come to see him except for a maid with his meals, and he'd gotten tired of destroying furniture. For one thing, it didn't bleed. For another, it wasn't Vox. Or Romero. Therefore rendering it useless in the department of making him feel better through senseless torture and destruction.

By the time the three days were up and he was let out, he had more than a lot of pent up anger that he was more than willing to take out on anyone who dared to catch his attention. That didn't take very long when the hapless guard who was to 'escort' him to the palace entrance made a comment on his appearance. From there, it only took about thirty seconds for him to be halfway to ripping the corpse's head off. He would have succeeded too if Shelby hadn't shown his ugly face and restrained him, resulting in what could have been a damned fascinating catfight if it wasn't for the fact that his—_his_, it was so _galling_—former vice-captain was about three times larger—apparently the maggots hadn't had long enough to strip him of his massive bulk—_and_ armed, and all he manages to accomplish was to nearly get his arm broken.

It seems that his left arm has really been taking a beating these past few days, as if it feels some insane need to make up for the past-fifteen-odd years of not having taking any damage at all, as a result of _not existing_. He wouldn't have minded quite as much if it wasn't so determined to do it all in one go, and right now he's nursing his arm—still hurting rather badly from that slash he'd got from his idiotic mistake—when Vox shows up.

It doesn't take him very long to wish that Shelby could have been just a little more stupid and broken his arm because then that would mean—presumably, anyway, because as of late the realm of logic has ceased to apply when it comes to the moron next to him—he would be in the medical ward instead of standing here next to Vox. The bastard is giving some inspirational speech, although the point of that is something Albel has no idea of considering how they're all dead anyway, and this is what they want to do. How much inspiration do they need? But then, Vox always did like having an excuse to hear himself talk and his brainless minions do enjoy indulging him, much to the dismay of the precious little of his sanity that has managed to survive the scarring effects of the past weeks. It does not take very long for Albel to grit his teeth and wish very sincerely that another celestial ship could come and blow them all up again. He doesn't even care if it takes him with these fools. He's willing to make that sacrifice if it would mean that he wouldn't have to listen to Vox anymore, as he swears that the grate of that voice is going to make his ears bleed very soon.

As if hearing his thoughts, Vox finally shuts the hell up—which is good because Albel was just preparing to shove him into the mud, and that probably wouldn't have ended up too well for his continued existence—and he almost wants to cheer, but knows better than to indulge himself. For one thing, he knows that fate is a bitch and likes to come back to bite him in the ass every time it does something _nice_. Apparently he's not allowed to ever be happy or have anything good happen to him.

Not that he's arrogant enough to think that the world revolves around him. It wouldn't matter even if it did because he doesn't want all that damned attention, as it seems that people marked by destiny just suffer a lot more than everyone else. Look at Leingod. Albel doesn't mind the idea of being the embodiment of destruction, but not if it's because someone tinkered with him in the hopes that he would run around the universe _changing_ things. That's asking for a little too much, to be _expected_ to do anything but what he wants. To _lose_ because someone has ordained it. He's suffered enough as it is, and he's had enough of _this_. All he had wanted was a quiet existence with lots of random battles and exciting bloodshed. Was that really too much to ask?

Apparently, yes. The only excitement he has to look forward to at the moment is the verbal sparring with Vox when the bastard tries to take him to bed. Correction, ignore the 'tries'. Because he always succeeds, no matter how Albel tries to fight back. It's enough to become severely depressing, but at the moment he's too irritated to dwell on it. Besides, he knows that if he does dwell, he'll never be able to move past all of this. And then Vox would win by default because he'd have given up after surviving so much else, and he doesn't really want to give Vox that pleasure just yet. The bastard doesn't deserve it.

Perhaps that is why he is so desperate to get to the bottom of the mystery of how Vox and those other fools are alive. Well, alive in the sense that they are up and about rather than rotting in the ground, which is really what they should be doing right now. What they deserve. For that is really just a mere distraction from what is actually happening, just as the training is a way of venting his frustrations so that he doesn't take to systematically slitting his wrists. It's a desperate, pathetic way of taking some of that control back, but he knows all too well that all of it is a gift. It's a gift from Romero. The question is why, and why Romero is able to give him something that Vox obviously does not want him to have. What is his aim?

And with Arzei letting it slip (well, not precisely letting it slip but he doesn't know of any other way to describe it right now, or rather he's not in the mood to figure out proper descriptions when he has so many other things to worry about) that there was more to the bastard than it seemed… child's tale or not, coincidences were not something Albel took lightly. Especially given the circumstances.

He doesn't have very long to dwell on it as Vox turns to him, a deep frown on his face. Albel just stares back, expressionless, although he's radiating enough murderous intent to get the general point across. Then again, he's always radiating murderous intent. Vox seems to have become immune to it, or he ignores it. Romero, on the other hand, notices it and seems to be amused. Another reason why there is obviously something wrong with the man—if he even is human, which Albel is really starting to debate—although it has nothing to do with arrogance. It's just that most people react in semi-predictable ways, or at least ways that could be _reasonable_ given an explanation. Romero doesn't make any sense, no matter how you look at it. Everything he does, it's like he's just watching from the outside, as if this is a play and he's a spectator.

It's a play that he knows the outcome of, and he's just waiting for everyone else to figure out what should be obvious.

"Romero," he says suddenly, catching Vox off-guard enough to elicit a reaction other than the customary sneer. Slight improvement, but it's not enough considering how his ideal situation with Vox involves at least half the bastard's face ripped off, and therefore incapable of making _any_ expression except for pain, horror, and all those wonderful things that make the world go round.

The semi-surprised look lasts for approximately three seconds before Vox scowls at him and growls, in a completely unconvincing way, "Who?"

He frowns, and tries to not sound completely sarcastic and exasperated when he replies scathingly, "Well, he's sort of hard to miss. Tall, somewhat demonic, has less personality than a rock and yet more authority than even-"

_You_, was how he was going to finish that sentence, but Vox cuts him off before he can get to that last damning word. "What about him?"

He could call him on this, the fact that Vox is completely aware that he isn't as in control as he would like to think he is. He could, but chooses not to because he doesn't really believe in pointing out the obvious, not when it's liable to get something shoved down his throat in the evening or when he's got better things to do. The way things are shaping up, the latter is a greater concern than the former because at this rate, he might never have to worry about that _something_ ever again.

And there he goes again, thinking about something that does not need to be thought about. One would think he is obsessing, and maybe that's because he _is_. It's hard to forget that sort of thing, just as it's hard to get used to it no matter how long it has been going on for. He's learned to take it. He's learned to take a lot of things, although he hasn't learned to _accept_ it quietly. Still, it's how he can face Vox without wanting to run away, no matter how loudly instinct screams at him. No matter how badly he wants to do just that because he can't stand to look at Vox without feeling sick, although he can never let anyone know that. Not as long as he lives, and not after that either. It's bad enough what has been done to him. It's bad enough what is still happening. But he can deal with it, despite what people may think. Perhaps Vox thinks this is a way of breaking him. Again, maybe it is. But as long as he has a say in this, as long as he has _any_ will of his own, he isn't going to give in that easily.

So he moves on, focusing on the future instead of the present. A gloriously Vox-free future, and it's all the incentive he needs to keep moving forward.

Romero is his way of moving forward. Because he's someone, _something_ Vox doesn't have control over, and if Albel can get some measure of control over that, it's pretty much the same as winning at this point. And he needs to win this because if he doesn't, there's no telling what hell is going to wait for him for the rest of his life, however short or long that may be.

"Who is he?" he asks. He doesn't even demand this time, just clenches his teeth and asks.

"What do you care?" Vox asks right back, eyes narrowed.

"Curiosity," he drawls. He never did have much patience, and that fact has not changed recently.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

And clichés kill the _brain_, but he chooses not to voice that delightful thought. There's a reason why that saying has never caught on, and contrary to popular belief, Albel does actually have some impulse control although he rarely finds it useful. This is not one of those cases though, so he changes the subject before he can say something that will cause Vox to stop listening to him again. Not that he doesn't appreciate that most of the time, but in this particular case….

"You didn't even want me to come," he points out. "Not really. This is like last time, the final battle that will break and destroy Aquaria for good. You didn't need me to see it then, and you don't need me to see it now. You could and you _would_ have just locked me up in that dungeon to rot, but either you've had a change of heart or you're acting under someone's orders."

Vox's face has been steadily darkening—as to be expected, as Vox is not the type of person who likes to be reminded of his weaknesses—through this _acute_ observation, and he's a little more than surprised that he is able to finish without having his face play patty-cake with a fist. But for some completely unknown reason the man stays quiet, clearly irritated and angry and yet… quiet, allowing him to say his piece. There is no reason to let him finish and yet Vox gives him that, and it makes him even more suspicious than he had been before.

"You're more dangerous this time around."

He stares. He can't help it, although he recovers quickly with a bitter laugh. More dangerous this time? How? Last time, at least, he could still fight. This time, he's been saddled with a body he doesn't quite know how to handle, and the most ironic thing about it is that it's the damned _arm_ that is causing the most trouble, not the fact that he's technically a man trapped inside a woman's body. How many times has he caught himself dreaming of if things had gone different during that damnable ceremony, and that he had kept his arm and his father instead of losing both to a dragon's flame? He's got one back now, along with a whole lot else that he could do without, but it's become a hindrance more than anything else. He learned to fight with that disgusting mechanical arm; he learned to use it to make him stronger in an attempt to make him regret less. Now, stripped of it, he's had to relearn his fighting tactics but he hasn't had nearly enough time to completely get used to it. The cut on his arm was a pretty damn good reminder of this deficiency, when he had automatically raised his left arm to block when Romero had tried to cut him in two. He was lucky he hadn't gotten his arm cut off—how ironic that would have been—but Romero had pulled back in time. Why, he didn't really know.

"How do you figure that?" he finally asks, the wound on his arm immediately giving its own input into the matter by throbbing painfully. "You're dead already, aren't you?"

"Figure it out yourself. You can do that much, can't you?" Vox replies, no longer even looking at him. Instead, he is walking away to where his dragon waits, and is quickly replaced by two lackeys with the collective mental capacity of a particularly stupid hauler beast. Both of them eye him with the subtlety of a carrion eater, and he scowls back—something that does little to deter their staring.

"We will be accompanying you to the front lines," lackey number one finally says. After a moment. Of _staring_.

"Joy," he snaps.

* * *

It takes him two days before he finally manages to hunt down Romero. Two days of enduring dirty jokes, although the attempts to grope him had quickly stopped when the morons had realized that even when dead, getting hit in the privates will still hurt like a bitch. He has a suspicion that Vox might also have a hand in it as he doubts the bastard would be appreciative of his _property_ being handled by a lesser being, and for once he does not complain about the subservient treatment. Even if it was accidental, Vox is still doing him a favor and he remembers all too well what Arzei had implied. It would be easy for Vox to hand him over to any pig who wanted a quick fuck, and he has enough self-preservation to not cause any unnecessary trouble. Anyway, even without that threat hanging over his head, he knows better than to do anything stupid. Being stupid now would result in extra attention and guards because Vox certainly had enough of those, which means it would be just that much harder to do things when the time for action came.

So he spends his free time searching for Romero, with little help from the morons he is riding with. All of his demands to the bastard's location have been met with ignorance, although whether feigned or real he doesn't really know. But after only half an hour of such fruitless searching, he had been spectacularly reminded of why he had always chosen to ride ahead of the armies he led, rather than with them. Alone, he might be more 'susceptible' to danger, but not only did he get to fight first, he also got to escape from the insipid whining and inadequacies of people weaker than him. Even now, with a body he had only recently begun to adjust to, he was still a more competent swordsman than every one of those corpses, but they did have an advantage over him in that they were already dead and did not really have to worry about body parts flying away. Theoretically, they could just be reattached. He doesn't know how real theory was, as he had yet to be allowed to apply it.

That had been one of the last orders Vox had given him before the bastard had disappeared to do more important things, like lead an army instead of worry about his _wife_. What kind of moron brought his wife to a battlefield anyway? One who wanted her—or in this case, him, Albel thought very firmly—killed. He doesn't really think that is Vox's aim though. Is it Romero's then? He had intended to ask the man when he found him, but seeing how that was taking quite a bit longer than he had previously anticipated, it was a moot point.

They are already past Kirlsa when he finally catches up to Romero. Or more accurately, before Romero finds him. He immediately tenses up when he feels the man's presence, or the lack thereof. It's like the life is being sucked out of the air, and while Albel usually tries not to resort to such dramatics, he finds it difficult to describe it in any other way.

"You have been searching for me," Romero says by way of greeting. With any other person, it would have been a question. With Romero, it is a fact, just as everything he says is a statement of utmost truth.

It makes it difficult to reply without looking like a fool, but that's something he's gotten used to in the past weeks. And he's discovered that the best way to deal with it is to ignore the feeling of stupidity altogether, so perhaps that is why he simply jumps into the conversation without any of the social niceties that should precede it. Not that either of them needs them anyway. "I've had nothing better to do. You're a difficult person to find."

"I suppose," Romero replies simply. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

It is still not a question. He can tell, by the tone or really the lack thereof, that Romero already knows what this is all about. He supposes that it's inevitable since Romero does seem like the sort of person who would be all-knowing, so why should this be any different? He's oddly calm about the whole thing, no trace of anger bubbling up, no demand to teach the bastard a lesson. Maybe it's because he knows it won't make a difference. The way Romero acts, none of this is going to make a difference. Spectator. He's a spectator to this, not a stakeholder. He's not involved. Not really.

"Who are you?" he asks. It's not the right time to ask, not when he's this confused but he might never have another opportunity to ask. Or perhaps he will because it seems like Romero is simply waiting for this moment, and giving him a chance to voice his questions. If he fails now Romero might still give him a chance later, when he's more prepared. But there's something about the man that sets him off-balance, and he has a feeling that no matter what the circumstance, he might always feel the same way. He can't win this battle, not outright anyway. He might as well surrender now but Albel has never been very good at surrendering. Still, he's backed into a metaphorical corner, and what else does he have to lose now anyway?

Romero doesn't reply, just staring at him with that perfect face, that perfectly _blank_ face. If he squints he might detect a hint of amusement, but that might just be what is commonly referred to as a _hallucination_. Or the fact that he wants to, needs to, see something there because that is a proper, normal, _human_ reaction when someone asks a question that you know the answer to. Not this utter lack of expression. It isn't right. Nothing about Romero is ever right. And so he continues because what else can he do right now?

"You're not one of Vox's dead army. But you're not…" he trails off, and tries to figure it out. What is it about Romero? Why is he not right? He doesn't seem human but there're a lot of people that Albel has met that don't seem human, and being human is nothing to boast about anyway. Romero waits patiently for him to come up with something coherent to say, and finally he hits upon it. Romero isn't dead. But he isn't alive either. "You're not of the living either."

"Must I be one or the other?" Romero asks simply, as if there is a third option involved somewhere. Which oddly enough, makes the most sense right now. Romero isn't alive and he isn't dead. Alive and dead are usually one or the other options, two sides of a coin. There isn't a third. And yet Romero defies that expectation, and seems to prove that indeed, there is a third. It's just beyond his comprehension to understand that there can even be a third, as if he is incapable of seeing anything beyond what is conventional.

And as soon as he starts to think of it that way, it becomes not very difficult to think about. After all, how many times have his beliefs been shattered? First came the celestial ships, then came the fact that there was a whole _universe_ that Elicoor was only a tiny part of (which sure as hell explained a lot, in his opinion), and then the fact that the very universe was a creation of something entirely else. Data, that's all they really are, and he doesn't really get it but he's come to accept it and move on accordingly. So what if it doesn't make sense? There are a lot of things that don't, and as long as you accept that it's just the way things are, you move on to figuring out what to do about it.

"Of course not," he replies, and there is not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "But then just what the hell are you?"

Romero looks at him. Looks _through_ him, as if those flat, empty eyes can see the very workings of his brain. And for the first time those lips curl into a slight smile, very slight by mortal standards but positively earth-shattering by Romero's.

And he doesn't even need to hear what comes next because he already knows. He has known from even before Arzei said anything about it because it's just so obvious when you set aside reality and reality's suffocating standards, and Romero, king of the dead, says in a voice that no longer attempts to be—no longer _needs_ to be—human, "_I think you already know._"

End Notes: I find this chapter frightfully boring. But that might just be me. I rather like where the story goes from here, with the exception of the last chapter (I'm pretty 'meh' on that right now), although that might just be because stuff is finally _happening_.


	13. Fayt Leingod

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: Oh wow, I'm sorta moronic. I totally forgot the entire concept that despite how short these chapters are, some of them do actually _have_ scenes that therefore require scene breaks. Luckily for me most of them are short, but I discovered that there was a chapter where I totally forgot to put in the breaks (the last chapter). So I've edited that. Not too much of a change but it does make it read a little better, and make me look a little less like a dunce.  
Good thing this chapter has about sixty scene breaks, so I was reminded of my moronic tendencies in time.  
Anyhow.  
Thanks to Sahara-sweetie for beta-ing!

_thirteen_

Fayt Leingod knows for a fact that the limits of his sanity have finally been breached the day after college begins and he gets a call from Mirage, who very calmly proceeds to inform him that Elicoor II was being overrun by an army of dead—or _un_dead, Sophia insists later because apparently there is a difference between the two, although what that is Fayt honestly has no idea—and they're about to launch a minor rescue expedition, and would he possibly like to join them? The fact that he doesn't even bat an eye at this news is slightly worrisome, although at least he is able to have a proper reaction when Mirage follows up by adding that incidentally enough, Albel Nox is now a woman and Cliff is starting to go a little… batty.

Cliff isn't the only one, Fayt informs her quite pointedly, and to that she merely smiles and asks where the most convenient pick-up spot is located. He realizes very quickly that there really is no point in trying to further his argument, so he just gives in and tells her.

After hanging up, he then proceeds to spend the rest of the day fretting about how he was going to explain to his professors that he was not going to be able to attend classes for a while due to his 'saving the world' complex.

* * *

The Eagle Two is bigger than its predecessor, but not really by much. It's more than large enough to accommodate their motley crew, but considering how they're attempting to take out an army of undead, he would personally have liked a little more firepower to back them up.

"So let me get this straight," he says, already feeling the headache coming on, although that quite possibly has less to do with the situation at hand and more to do with the spine-shattering friendly pat on the back Cliff had rewarded him with when he had boarded the ship. He had spent a rather embarrassing few minutes writhing on the floor in pain as Cliff had laughed nervously and apologized, although he had managed to wheeze out a quiet "No problem" that sounded more like a whimper than anything else. "Vox is back from the dead with a bunch of other Airyglyph soldiers that are also supposed to be dead, and they've taken over Airyglyph and are now trying to finish the war with Aquaria."

In being dead, it seems to him that they have a rather unfair advantage in that they cannot technically be killed by any means other than completely destroying their bodies. From what he has come to understand, this was apparently where they were supposed to come in, but as of now he is having issues in figuring out exactly _how_ they're supposed to manage that.

"You were always quick," Cliff beams back at him, and now Fayt knows what Mirage meant when she had called the other Klausian 'batty'. He sounded like he was teetering on the brink of despair, but rather than just give in, he instead lit up his face with a brilliant smile that made him seem just slightly like a mass murderer who had just killed another cute puppy.

"And Albel is now a woman?" Sophia asks faintly, although Fayt isn't sure if the soft tone of the question has to do with the zombies or the gender bending.

"According to Nel, yep," Cliff replies, taking that particular piece of information very well considering how it concerns the guy he had been trying to persuade into a relationship for what had seemed like the entire previous trip. Despite having other issues, such as saving the universe and all that.

"And he's married to Vox," Fayt adds before he can control his big mouth. Sophia gives him a _look_ and he cringes, ready to apologize for that idiotic statement—as if Cliff needed a reminder about _that_—but stops when he gets a look at Cliff's face.

To his utmost horror, Cliff's serial killer smile has not faltered in the least. In fact, the Klausian looks ready to say something chillingly cheerful when Mirage comes to their rescue by interrupting, "Cliff, I can't do this on my own, you know."

He sees Sophia mouth 'Thank you' to Mirage as Cliff reluctantly turns back to the controls, and Fayt takes the opportunity to turn to Maria who has so far been silent. Right now she has that slight smile on her face she always has when she watches Mirage scold Cliff, and he realizes quite suddenly how much he's missed this. Since they've gone their separate ways he hasn't seen any of them face-to-face, with the exception of Sophia, and this is dramatically different from conversations over a communicator. For one thing, it's a lot louder and physically painful, but despite that it's also a lot… nicer. For most people, this sort of behavior would fall into the realm of the abnormal, but he's become so used to it that normality is the strange one. Perhaps that was why he was so lost before, trying to find a place in the world after everything that had happened. It's difficult to integrate yourself into a former life when you've changed so much, and it took him a while to move past everything that had happened in such a short period of time. He'd saved a world and a universe, defeated countless enemies, made new friends—although really, that word is nowhere near sufficient to describe exactly how he feels about the others—learned the truth about himself and their very existence, _watched his father die to save him_… at the time, he distracted himself with the task of defeating the Proclaimers and Executioners and whatnot, but after everything was over he just had too much time to remember that day. Too much time to experience that hurt to the fullest, and too much time to ever avoid that pain.

He finds that it doesn't hurt quite as much right now, and it's not because he's off to save another world. It's because he's here, with his friends, and confronted with their respective idiosyncrasies that make him want to both laugh and repeatedly hit his head against the nearest wall, he finds himself helpless to resist the mood and simply feels _alive_ for the first time in what seems like a very long time. Never mind the fact that they are off to defeat an army of dead or undead or zombified or _something_, or the fact that one of his friends is now probably very sexually confused because no matter how crazy all of that seems, it's all in a day's work. They've seen worse, although he has to admit that this is pretty high on the weirdness scale.

As if reading his mind, Maria breaks into his thoughts to ask, "You missed this, didn't you?"

In the background he can hear Sophia and Mirage ganging up on Cliff, trying to convince him that his current behavior actually is a bit freaky and he needs to find a different coping mechanism before they shove him out an airlock. And all he can do right now is foolishly grin, "Surprisingly enough… yeah, I did."

Maria gives him a knowing smile, "Me too."

* * *

It takes a while for them to reach Elicoor, and in the process the cheerful mood is slowly but surely overcome by a sobriety that comes from the fact that there is a reason for their gathering, and the reason is not really a pleasant one. Fayt knows that it is time to get serious when Cliff finally stops pretending to be fine with the situation, instead putting an exaggerated effort into guiding the ship when it requires, for the most part, little assistance from him. Mirage frowns at him as he fiddles with the controls but refrains from saying anything, and beside him both Maria and Sophia are now napping. The atmosphere still manages to be tense despite the calm that seems to have settled over them, and after a while Fayt decides to ask the question that has been nagging at him ever since Mirage had called him.

"Cliff?" he asks softly, and the Klausian quickly turns away from the control panel—much to Mirage's discernible relief—to look at him.

"Yes, my boy?"

Fayt raises an eyebrow at that, especially since he really didn't think he should still be considered a _boy_. He is _twenty_, for cripe's sake, but he decides not to comment on that for the sake of everyone's sanity. Instead, he chooses to get straight to the point by asking, "How do you expect us to defeat an army of dead?"

"Undead," Sophia interrupts sleepily, yawning as she stretches to get some feeling back in her limbs.

"There's a difference?" Maria asks curiously, not a trace of drowsiness in her voice despite having just woken up. Fayt wonders jealously how she manages that, but this is probably not the time to ask.

"Well, from what Mirage said, it seems that they're not just corpses that are acting under some third person's command, but are still thinking for themselves. If they were just dead, they wouldn't be able to do anything more than follow someone else's orders. Since they're not, they can't be dead, but they're not alive either so they're technically more like undead."

"What about zombies?"

"Is this really the time to be asking such things?" Mirage interrupts, but there's a slight edge in her voice that could cause the staunchest warrior to quiver where he stood. Or in their case, get them back onto the topic of what exactly they hope to accomplish because Fayt is a firm believer that making a plan is better than just rushing into things head-on, both of which they've done more than once on their previous quest. While plans weren't perfect, at least they could give you a starting point, and considering what they are up against, a starting point isn't a bad thing to have.

"Good point," Cliff says, turning to their motley crew of misfits. "Any suggestions to Fayt's question?"

"Well, Nel said that symbology seems to work quite well, particularly fire-based spells. Basically, anything that completely destroys their bodies is effective," Mirage says. "Unfortunately, there's only so many of Vox's army that can be taken out with such a method, since there really aren't enough symbologists to have enough impact. Technology-wise, the Eagle Two can take out a substantial number on its own, but then we will have their dragons to contend with. Their fire is not really an issue, but if they start ramming the ship, they can cause a serious amount of damage. And considering how they're probably not alive either, I doubt Vox will hold back."

"What about the Diplo?" Sophia asks, and to this Maria grimaces slightly.

"If we are caught in a pinch, I can contact them to help us out. However, I would rather leave them out of this fight. They've already done enough for us as it is," Maria explains awkwardly, and Sophia immediately looks apologetic. Maria quickly shakes her head, "It's fine, Sophia. Don't worry about it. But if it's technology we need, I have something that might come in useful." And now it's Maria's turn to look apologetic as she glances at Fayt before taking in a breath and continuing, "I've been studying the Vendeeni technology. I built a modified version of their guns… it works in the same way by completely vaporizing the target."

A silence follows this, and Fayt feels… cold as he remembers once again exactly how his father died. Maria does not meet his eyes—nobody does as he tries to figure out what he thinks of this. It is no surprise that he is completely unhappy with the idea of using such technology, even against someone who is already dead. But is that enough reason to not use something that can help them out, or is he being so selfish that he might condemn innocents to death?

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea to give too much technology to the Aquarians," Sophia suddenly speaks up, much to his surprise. "I'm not just saying this because of the UP3, but we'd be interfering so much. I mean, from what Fayt told me, you did help them build their runological weapon, but they'd already done a lot of the basic work and what you did was mostly to fix their errors and get them the copper. This is introducing something completely new, and I don't know if I can be comfortable with that, even if we regulate the use of the weapons only to ourselves. And even then… I'm sorry, Maria, but I don't think I would want to use one of those."

"I wouldn't either," Fayt seconds quickly. "If possible, I think we should come up with a different course of action. One that might not impact Aquaria as much as introducing new technology. I know they've already seen quite a bit of it, but this would be more… personal, I guess. The last time they weren't really a part of it and we dealt with the Vendeeni ourselves, but this might be pushing the limits too much for them to go back to their previous lifestyle after Vox and his army are dealt with."

"Perhaps if we can find the source of the problem, we might not have to fight Vox at all."

Fayt looks over at Mirage, "How do you figure that?"

"Nel said that the reason why Albel stayed behind was because he wanted to know why Vox and his men were no longer dead. He has a point in that there has to be a reason for it, and figuring out that reason might very well be the key to undoing whatever is causing them to not be dead anymore. If we can figure out what it is and negate it, we might be able to avoid a direct confrontation with this undead army."

"But how are we going to figure that out?" Maria asks. "That's definitely the most reasonable course of action, but from what I understand, it seems that we don't really have much time to act."

"Maybe Albel knows already," Sophia suggests.

"Even if he does, how are we supposed to get to him? Seems to me Vox has him on a short leash," Cliff speaks out, sounding none too happy about that concept. It's no surprise, and although Fayt feels bad for his friend, he cannot help but be a little happy that Cliff is at least reacting in a more understandable way than overstated and _very_ fake humor.

"Albel's not exactly the type of person who's going to wait around to tell anyone anyway. He'll probably just act on his own, even if it's not the wisest thing to do, without telling anyone what is going on," Maria sighs, causing Cliff to laugh.

"That definitely sounds like something Albel would do."

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. She has never been overly fond of Albel despite the sense of comradeship, let alone understood what Cliff sees in him. Something she relates to him quite firmly as she says, "I honestly have no idea why you're attracted to him."

"He has a nice ass," Cliff replies cheerfully.

Fayt chokes. He's glad to know he's not the only one.

* * *

"Nel!" Sophia says happily as they get off the ship, quickly running over to greet the Aquarian while Fayt and the others follow behind her at a more sedate pace. After spending so many hours in the ship you'd think it would take a little longer for Sophia to be able to move around so energetically, but it's Fayt's experience that Sophia's naps give her enough hyperactive energy to overcome everything else.

Right now, Sophia's energy is contrasted wildly with Nel, who while looking equally happy to see them, also looks totally exhausted.

"Everyone," Nel greets, a tired smile on her face. It doesn't take much attention to see that Nel has probably not been sleeping at all as of late, the stress of recent events more than apparent on her face. Before anyone can comment on that, and Cliff looks quite ready to, Nel continues, "It's good to see you all again. I just wish it could have been under different circumstances."

"As do we all," Maria says diplomatically. "But we'll have time for that later."

"If there's anything left standing," Nel replies, a hint of hopelessness lacing the words. The past weeks have definitely been hard on her if she is reduced to this, and Fayt wishes that they could have somehow gotten here sooner to help. "Vox's army has been moving fast. The main army is just past the border, but their scouts have gotten as far as Peterny. The majority of our citizens are here in the capital or scattered in the inner depths of the country, but many have already fallen victim to those undead. We've been scrambling to mobilize but we have only so many runologists, and with so few, it doesn't look good. I was thinking of maybe using guerilla tactics and sending small groups to ambush the army and escape quickly, but the chance of that working with so many of them is low and-"

"Whoa there, slow down!" Cliff cuts her off. "Calm down already! We're here now."

At that, Nel just looks even more depressed, "I'm sorry for getting you all involved. It's not your problem and you shouldn't have to be here, and-"

"We _want_ to be here, Nel," Sophia says quietly. "You're our friend. We can't just let you get killed, especially after so much you've done for us."

"And I can't let you get killed over something that isn't even directly affecting you," Nel shakes her head. "But I am grateful that you have come, despite my conscience. You may be our only hope right now."

"If you're so grateful, than stop being so guilty," Cliff replies. "For one thing it's depressing, and for another it isn't even your fault. If you want to blame someone either blame us for not listening to you or blame Vox for causing this whole mess. But don't blame yourself. It's not helping anyone, especially you."

Coming from anyone else, Cliff's words might have sounded cold, maybe even cruel. But Fayt is suddenly reminded of exactly why Cliff could be considered one of the best diplomats around; he might seem like he lacks brains or subtlety, but he doesn't. He is kind and he cares about people, and even though he can be a little bull-headed, he is refreshingly honest. And it works. All of it works so that people listen to him and really believe what he is saying, even if he has to threaten to knock a few heads together first.

Luckily for everyone involved, it works now too as Nel sighs and shakes her head, "You are all hopeless, you know that?"

"But that's why you missed us!"

"I suppose. It is refreshing, in a strange way," Nel replies, looking over all of them before straightening and trying to look a little less tired and a tad more official, beckoning them to follow her as she continues. "The queen will want to see you to discuss what you plan to do, and how you want to go about it. Well, as long as you do have a plan?"

"Sorta," he replies, looking sheepish as he remembers exactly what their plan involves, and the approximately five hundred and sixteen ways it can go wrong (he'd counted). "We just don't know if it's a very good one."

End Notes:I'm not overly fond of the last scene. I just had to write it to get it out of the way, I guess, and because I wanted to get to the next chapter. Which is a shame because I rather liked the rest of this chapter. That might just be because I really enjoyed writing Fayt (although not nearly as much as I enjoy writing Cliff), but whatever!


	14. Albel Nox Take VI

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: Considering how this story was supposed to be short, it perpetually amazes me how damned _long_ the last chapters are. Well, not the very last chapter (that one is pretty short in my opinion, which is surprising but there wasn't exactly any way for me to just… drag it out, no pun intended), but this current group of chapters.  
Anyhow, not much to say. Sorry I was a little later than usual in updating (time of daywise, not day); I was out most of the weekend, and what with Harry Potter eating up the time I did have at home… yep, this sorta fell by the wayside.  
With that said, thanks to the readers, reviewers, and the dearest beta Sahara!

_fourteen_

He takes an automatic step back, and immediately his mind screams curses at this reaction. Stepping back means fear. Stepping back means weakness, and that isn't quite the impression he wants to give, especially now. But he can't help it and even as he orders his body not to take another step, it's already too late.

Romero's expression hasn't changed, but something about his face, his _being_, has. It's like he's not bothering to hide the fact that he isn't human, isn't really alive, isn't really anything that can be comprehended because he's not quite of this world. And the world for Albel is already a pretty damn big place, encompassing all those other planets and people that he didn't even know existed just over a year ago. But even including them, Romero is too different from all of that. There's something wrong with him, almost like those 4-D beings that just didn't seem right despite looking quite normal. It's just a feeling—or if it was Fittir, a _hunch_, he thinks sneeringly. The fact that he can still sneer even when he's busy trying not to have (another) mental breakdown is promising, and he brightens up slightly at that thought even though it doesn't change the way Romero is eyeing him like a piece of meat. If Romero could have actual human expressions, he might have compared it to the look in Vox's eyes on their 'wedding night', but he doesn't like to think about those sorts of things—_too late, too late because he is masochistic and he is obsessive and most of all he is an _**idiot**—so he fumbles for a different description, only to be stuck on the one he doesn't like.

"Are you scared, Albel Nox?" And it's back to the human-esque voice, but it's so fake that he nearly shudders, although that modicum of self-restraint touched with a substantial amount of arrogance manages to save him from such humiliation. "From my observations, I thought you of all people would be least affected by this revelation, especially considering how much you had already figured out on your own. Or did I misjudge? It seems that people are not quite as easy to figure out as I thought they would be."

"Figure out?" he repeats, the tiny remaining amount of control quickly dissipating in favor of a damnable need to know what the hell is going on, just as he had once told Zelpher. Granted, he'd just been trying to get rid of her at the time because the last thing he'd needed was an Aquarian spy breathing down his neck, but he'd meant it too. It's not that he needs to understand the logistics of everything going on, but he does need to know at least the general picture. It helps him decide how to act and what to do because as _wonderful_ as it would be to simply say that he is going to kill Vox and that is that, there're still too many half-dead maggots to deal with to make that the end all. If he wants to ensure that death will claim Vox and his army of fools _permanently_, he needs to know the entire _how_ behind all of this. "Figure out _what_? That people are really as idiotic as they seem to be?"

Romero shrugs, his face so impassive that Albel wants to dig his nails into that white skin and rake a few bloody gouges down those unmarred cheeks. "You didn't answer my question."

The chill runs down his spine again, despite his growing anger, "I didn't hear one."

"I asked you if you were scared," Romero replies calmly.

He snorts. Apparently his acting skills have not completely vanished. Yet. "That's redundant, isn't it? I'm sure you already know the answer to that question."

"I should, should I not?" Romero asks, staring _at_ him instead of through, and he nearly takes another step back except there aren't any more steps that he can take anyway. He's stuck, just like before, and he curses his helplessness, although he hides that by glaring defiantly at Romero. Deep down he knows that it's more pitiful than anything else, but Romero chooses not to comment on it, instead continuing, "But that is the thing about you. You are scared, but you are hiding it. Why is that? What is the purpose of that when it will not change anything?"

"Fear isn't something you just admit so easily," he finds himself replying, although he wonders why he is even bothering. It's not like he's decided to be Romero's instructor in exactly how people acted and how most of the time it doesn't make sense and that perhaps it just isn't supposed to anyway. But somehow that's what he's doing, or is he just trying to explain it to himself again? Every time he thinks he's been forced into accepting his inadequacies, something happens that makes him start all over again. It's terribly annoying.

"Why not? It seems that the reason why you lost that arm was because you could not let go of your feelings. Perhaps that should have been a lesson to you?"

He bristles at the reminder. Not just of his failure that had led to his father's death, but the fact that the arm in question is not even missing anymore. Because he has his left arm again. It just came with some other things that he really does not appreciate, and he still doesn't know what the hell was the point of that. Doesn't know why he had to undergo that change, doesn't know why he's a woman right now. It's a fact that is easy enough to ignore until they're in bed, and then he's so busy trying to convince himself that this is just a nightmare that it's almost like dissociating himself from his physical body. He's coping with it, but he's not coping well. He doesn't want to accept that something like his _gender_ could be changed so drastically, and maybe it's not a mature reaction but exactly how the hell he was supposed to react to this is something he would very much like to know. People don't usually get their genders changed like that, and he wonders for the millionth time exactly what was in that damned poison that Vox had shoved down his throat. More than that, he wonders if taking it again would reverse its effects, but somehow he doubts the universe would be that accommodating.

He wonders abruptly if Romero had something to do with that too, although he'll be damned if he asks. He's pretended well enough that the change hasn't affected him nearly as much as it actually does, and he's not about to reverse that work, especially in front of _him_.

So instead he snarls, "What would you know of the affairs of the living? What does it matter to you?"

"Must I have a reason?"

A reason? Even though Romero hasn't outright said it, Albel can figure out that the cause of this war is Romero, although why he would want to go through the trouble of raising the dead to make more dead people is beyond his comprehension. What does a king of the dead need with more dead people? It's not like the dead pay taxes or do anything remotely productive that can actually benefit him. Personally he thinks more dead people would mean more boring work because it seems that Arzei is always busy doing boring tasks, and that's without an influx of new _residents_. Although he supposes the dead won't need a residency anyway. Why would they? They were _dead_.

Romero gives him a look, as if he's been reading his mind all this time, "You do not believe in an afterlife, do you?"

"Should I?" he bites back. And regrets it immediately when Romero suddenly reaches out to grab his wrist, and he nearly screams.

It's not that it hurts. It does—a _lot_—but in a way that is unexplainable. It's worse than the time he got blasted by those Vendeeni weapons—which according to Maria would have completely vaporized him if it had been a direct hit instead of just a graze, how he would like to have one of those damned things right now—or getting pummeled by a multitude of 4-D creations. The only word he can think of to describe the touch is that it is cold, even more so than Vox's icy death-touched skin but to the point that it seems like everything has momentarily stopped working, too overwhelmed by this unnatural pain. A damning gasp escapes, and Romero might have looked bemused but the bastard still does not let go even though he feels like he might just faint soon and he really does not want to have that happen. But pulling back or struggling seems like a distant and impossible prospect, so all he can do is try to push his awareness beyond that pain and try to focus on something else but _what_?

"Mm. Most people would not have lasted this long. You are very proud. Can all your reactions be explained by pride, or is there something else?"

Arrogance. Obstinacy. A thousand words present themselves as other explanations, but they're all swept away as Romero pushes his chin up with a single finger so that they're eye to eye, and how could such a simple movement be accompanied by so much pain? It doesn't make sense, this. It shouldn't work like this, but it just goes to show that a part of him has become used to this sort of thing because he's not surprised. He just doesn't want to accept that something like this could happen, and that's fine because accepting wouldn't make it any better anyway. Accepting what he's become is one thing, but accepting that pain can come simply from being touched by someone? No point in accepting that. No need. So he won't. Not right now anyway.

"You interest me, Albel Nox." This is really not what he wants to hear right now. But even though Romero can apparently read his mind, the fool obviously doesn't care about what he wants as he continues in that dull, emotionless voice that still manages to convey a sense of triumph, "It would be a shame for you to go so soon. Perhaps I could persuade you to be one of my servants?"

And perhaps he can take that persuasion and shove it up the bastard's ass. But the implication is that permission is really not necessary, and if he doesn't figure out something soon, he's going to find himself tied for the rest of eternity to this maggot. For the _strangest_ reason, that just doesn't appeal to him, and he snarls—or at least makes a decent attempt at one, considering the circumstances. Needless to say, it's less than adequate. Yet it is all he can manage to do right now, and at least there's no way it can be interpreted as consent. Which is an improvement.

For a change.

Things take a turn for the better when Romero lets go of him instead of waiting for him to do something embarrassing, like faint. Of course, he _does_ get a little help from the fact that there's a celestial ship bearing down on them, and in a blink of an eye several of Vox's soldiers are now gone. Well, not gone technically. Just dust.

That is a definite improvement, although it's difficult to admire it from his position on the ground. He recovers quickly though and gets to his feet, and blinks at the spectacle before them. He doesn't recognize the ship, but knows immediately who is in it because who else would be meddlesome enough to get involved in something that obviously isn't their problem?

"I see this might not be the best place to continue this conversation," Romero muses out loud, causing him to growl. The king of the dead stares at the scene for a moment more and then turns back to him, as expressionless as ever. "I will be waiting for you in Airyglyph. In the dungeons under the castle."

"What the hell makes you think I'll go back there?" he snaps back.

They both know the answer to that. Romero doesn't even bother to respond, doesn't even bother to look back at him as he sinks into the ground. His disappearance does not leave the area empty though; the Crimson Scourge falls to the earth in his wake.

It takes him a moment to approach the sword, a moment to stand there and revel in the screams of corpses falling to the ship's far superior weaponry. He doesn't doubt that those Aquarian cowards are using this moment to indulge in their damned runology, although he doesn't begrudge them this for the time being. Any enemy of Vox is someone he will allow to live for a little longer, at least until the common threat is dealt with. But the dragons are already being summoned and if a few of them were to ram the ship, as Vox is clearly intending to do, the outworlder fools won't stand a chance.

Not that any of that is his problem, he tells himself firmly as he finally picks up the sword. He can practically feel it bristle at his touch, unfamiliar with this change. It recognizes him but then it doesn't, and he scowls at the fact that a damn gender change can cause even an inanimate object to have issues. But as he has come to accept the biological difference, the Crimson Scourge follows likewise, quickly calming down and probing ruthlessly at his mind. There are a thousand new things it can probe through, but oddly enough it does not question him as it did the last time. Instead, it's reminding him, as usual, that its services are a favor that can be revoked at any point, any time. As soon as he becomes unworthy, it will take him over, but apparently the joke of his current existence is not grounds for annulment just yet.

"Same to you," he growls, pulling the sword from its sheath and giving it an experimental swing. The difference between it and the crap swords he was using before is immediately apparent, and then for the first time in a long while, he laughs. It's a sharp bark of a laugh, but by this point, who the fuck even cares?

"We've got our work cut out for us," he grins, and walks towards the battlefield.

Towards the fighting and the screaming and most importantly, the **action**.

* * *

It turns out that cutting corpses in half is a rather effective course of action, given the circumstances. He'd learned some basic symbology from his time with the maggots, but it's been a while since he's bothered to use those insipid spells. He didn't like using them then and he doesn't like using them now, so he decides to play to his strengths and just _attack_.

He figures out quickly that slicing an undead soldier through the torso might be the most efficient way of dealing with the lot of them. They don't die from it, seeing how they're already dead, but with their spinal cords shattered like that the brain isn't able to inform the legs to get a little closer so that the pieces can attempt to meld, resulting in the arms having to drag the upper body half closer to the bottom. It takes time and he doubts that it would be so easy to just put the pieces back together, but he doesn't bother sticking around to find out.

For the most part the soldiers don't really notice him until it is too late, what with having their attention mostly held by the fact that comrades are being blasted left and right by shiny lasers. The Aquarian army is also there, the cowards aiming their runology spells from afar. No big weaponry this time, as the peace treaty had stipulated their destruction. One of the only benefits to Airyglyph, incidentally enough. Maybe not such a good idea now, but who could have predicted something like this happening? Anyway, it's not like Aquaria is actually fighting against Airyglyph—just its remnants. Between the two the army of dead has its hands full, although they're quickly recovering from the surprise attack and scrabbling to be on the offensive. At which point neither the maggots nor the Aquarian scum will stand a chance, but that's none of his concern right now. He knows the source of the problem now, and removing that source may very well stop all of this nonsense in its tracks. For if Romero is the reason why Vox and his army are moving, getting rid of the monster will get rid of the entire problem.

Simpler said than done though. Not only does he not know how to defeat a demon, but there's the more immediate issue of transport. Walking is certainly not going to get him to Airyglyph before every single person on this battlefield is dead—although over half of them will still be up and about afterwards—but the other option isn't immensely appealing either. He doesn't like dragons. It's been years since his failure but his feeling towards those accursed beasts have not changed in the slightest, and one of the nice things about training in the Urssa Lava Cave was the large number of dragons he got to kill on the way there.

He doesn't doubt that the feeling is mutual, as the dragons have little reason to like him either. They know very well that he doesn't like them, as much as stupid, brainless animals can know such things.

And yet despite this, despite the fact that he swore never to depend on one of those damned creatures again, he finds himself finally making it off the main battlefield to where the dragons are stationed, grabbing the harness of one of the only living monsters before it can take off into the air. The animal turns sharply to stare at him, its large gold eyes clearly wondering who would be suicidal enough to treat it like the animal that it actually is. He doesn't care, glaring right back at the creature in a way that makes the dragon snarl at the insolence.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" its rider roars. Albel recognizes that screech immediately—Schweimer, someone who may possibly be even _more_ useless than Shelby and Demetrio. _Combined_. Which begs the question of where the hell does Vox _find_ these people, although he supposes that right now may not be the best time to be figuring out such things.

"What does it look like?" he snaps back, before proceeding to do his remaining brain cells a favor by ignoring the moron. Instead, he turns to the dragon, who is looking seriously torn between biting his head off or just setting his hair on fire. But he's lost enough to these foolish creatures, and he doesn't plan on losing anything else no matter how slight it might be. The other things were already more than enough. Glou Nox was a better man than he ever will be, and that is a loss he is prepared to pay for with his life if it comes down to it. Nothing Albel does can measure up to his father's accomplishments, so he strives to do everything he can just to be remotely comparable.

The dragon. It all comes back to that. He hates the dragon. It's nothing personal, not really. But he hates it for what it represents to him, for reminding him of his failure and loss and weaknesses. But right now, he needs the dragon. There is no other way for him to get to Airyglyph so quickly, and so he must simply face all of these things. Such a simple concept, really, but not one that he is particularly fond of. If it was as easy as it sounds, he would have done it years ago.

"Listen to me," he hisses, his words barely audible over Schweimer's screechy protests. "You don't like me and I sure as hell don't like you. But one advantage I have over that fool riding you is that I'm still alive and he's not. Plus I don't scream as much," he adds almost as an afterthought. The screeching becomes even louder, although he's not sure if that's because of his last comment or because Schweimer has gotten off the dragon and is now coming at him, apparently intent on making them _all_ deaf.

Even the dragon looks irritated. Is the fool trying to make his job easier? Not that he's complaining (much) or anything of the sort, but there's only so much utter idiocy he can take before his head starts to hurt. It's also getting more difficult to ignore what the maggot is saying, but he grits his teeth and pulls harder on the dragon's harness, forcing the creature to look at him.

He can tell that the dragon knows his feelings about this. He doesn't even try to hide it this time. He needs the dragon's help, as much as it galls him, and the dragon doesn't need his help. It's not a proposal to work together; it's more of a plea, and the monster has no reason to do as he asks.

He knows that and he hates it, but what other choice does he have right now? This needs to end, and to do that he needs to get to Airyglyph. To Romero. And it's not for Airyglyph or Aquaria or Fittir or the other maggots or anything as noble as that; he wants this to end simply for himself because he can't be tied to an incompetent fool like Vox for the rest of his life, and he can't spend everyday looking over his shoulder and hoping that the bastard isn't anywhere near him. He's dealt with these past few weeks as best as he can, and he's survived. But he doesn't know how much longer he can survive that because deep down, although he tries to ignore it, he knows exactly what Vox is doing to him. He's been helpless to stop it, as helpless as being locked in that stink hole of a dungeon, and this may be his only chance to finally do something about it. Because he doesn't know how much more he can take of it, and if he needs to face a dragon in order to even touch the possibility of having this stop, having Vox be done with for good so that he no longer has to dread the nights, then so be it. He _will_.

And all of this, he lets the dragon know. It's incoherent, and pathetic at that. The dragon snarls and tosses its head, the force of it making him lose his grip on the harness. Its mouth is now dripping flames except he doesn't have time to worry about that as Schweimer grabs him. His reaction is automatic and the Crimson Scourge slices Schweimer's arm off, although he's too out of it to really take note of what is even going on right in front of him, having dropped all his barriers to communicate with the beast. Is this what it is supposed to be like, to have some other creature know him this intimately? He doesn't know how anyone can stand it. Or maybe it's because he's just closed himself off from others for so long that it's unfamiliar, but still it feels like some horrible intrusion. It's almost like being tested by the Crimson Scourge all over again, but the dragon is a (somewhat) sentient being, more so than a chunk of finely wrought steel could ever try to be.

Slicing one arm is nowhere near enough to slow the bastard down so he quickly lops off the other. It's somewhat disconcerting to watch Schweimer fall and yet never utter a scream, but apparently these corpses don't feel the same pain that the living do as all of the others had reacted in precisely the same way. But he doesn't have long to dwell on that fascinating fact of life—or unlife, to be more accurate—as then there is _fire_ so close he nearly faints from the heat, followed quickly by the smell of flesh burning that is _so damn familiar_ that he nearly chokes on a scream of despair. He keeps it in and tries to clear his mind and then the dragon is before him, indicating that he has approximately fifteen seconds to get on its back before it changes its mind and burns him to a crisp for wasting its time. And eardrums.

He barely thinks on it as he sheathes his sword and does as the dragon demands. He's barely got his hands on the harness when the winged abomination takes off, the motion very close to making him airsick if he hadn't already dealt with that particular annoyance with riding Crosell and spending all those times on those celestial ships. Still, the rocking motion is enough to force him to cling to the harness as if his life depends on it—which it does, as much as he doesn't want to admit it.

The dragon seems somewhat amused by this gesture, and he snarls. But if he is to be honest—something that he doesn't have much of a choice about at the moment, seeing how his mind is still terribly open to the dragon—he'll have to admit that quite possibly, he doesn't hate this particular dragon quite as much as he used to.

End Notes:  
I love the next chapter. Just as a FYI.


	15. Cliff Fittir

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit. Lots of the last one.  
Notes: This is my favorite chapter of the entire fic, which is sorta funny because it gave me hell to write. But I really enjoyed how it turned out, and what can I say? I really enjoyed writing Cliff perspective-ish.  
Anywho! Thanks to readers and darling Sahara!

_fifteen_

_"Aww, damnit."_

_"Strange, but not completely unexpected."_

_"Heh. Considering that guy, we probably _should_ have expected it. Well, guess I'll be going."_

_"Roger. Take care of yourself."_

_"Going? Going _where_? We can't just land in the middle of a battle so you can chase after your—Mirage! What are you doing?!"_

_"Take care of the kids for me, Mirage!"_

_"We're not kids and…you _can't_ be serious."_

_"Cliff, don't you dare--"_

_"Mirage, close that door before--"_

_"Oh _shit._"_

* * *

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, fool?!"

This is, at least, what Cliff assumes is being said. Although he can hear perfectly well what Albel is screaming at him, comprehension of those same words is slightly more difficult due to the tiny problem that his brain has yet to catch up with his body. Perhaps hurling himself out of the Eagle II was _not_ the best idea he has had in a while. Granted, it worked, but he is starting to feel that such a move bordered on the side of absolutely suicidal, and that really isn't his cup of tea.

But then… again, it had worked, so at least there were some benefits to his insanity.

When his brain finally manages to make its way back into his skull, doing so with a painful throb as punishment for being separated from its home in Cliff's head, he is still rather unable to hear Albel's screeched obscenities due to his brain now doing something that could resemble a victory dance. The curses, while rather insulting to his intelligence and manliness, can actually be considered a sign of affection from the Elicoorian, and at this point Cliff is determined to take whatever he can get.

It therefore takes a few moments more for him to recover from this spate of giddiness, and he grins foolishly even though he knows Albel cannot see it while yelling, "What did you say? Couldn't hear ya!"

The grin just widens at the shocked silence that follows his cheerful inquiry, which in turn is quickly followed up by another round of insults and name-calling. Cliff is probably the only person who finds this coping mechanism oddly heart-warming, as it is a sign that Albel cares enough to waste his energy thinking of new names to call him. Soon, they might even be able to work to the realm of more intimate—and not to mention G-rated—pet names such as… pooky. Yes, pooky. Albel seems a bit like a pooky, and—

He does not have time to finish that thought, as the dragon suddenly shakes its head. Seeing how Cliff is currently dangling from between said dragon's teeth, this is not a very comfortable situation, something he articulates to Albel. "Ow! Hey, call your dragon off!"

Pooky just snarls. "I ought to have it take your entire arm off! What the hell were you doing, jumping out of that celestial ship?!"

The easy answer is that he had not been thinking. It has the benefit of being true too, as he really had not been thinking at the time, acting instead on impulse or hunch or whatever the hell he happens to be calling it now. But the reasons for the immediate action, the reason why he did not have to think about it? He knows the answer to _that_, and he'd be damned if Albel doesn't know too, which is why he doesn't bother to answer that. He doesn't _need_ to. So instead, he asks, "Where are we going?"

"None of your business, maggot!", Albel snaps. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't have you dropped on your head. Even with your thick skull, I _doubt_ you'll be able to survive at this distance."

Cliff pouts, not like Albel's whiny pout but a very manly pout and yes, there most certainly is a difference between the two. "Now is this really how we want to start off our reunion?"

He can just imagine Albel's eyes boggling at that, "_Reunion_?!"

"Yeah, reunion. It's been a while since we've seen each other and the first thing you do is start yelling insults at me. I guess it's nice to know that you haven't changed much, but I was hoping for something a little nicer. Guess I assumed too much?"

"How dare you assume _anything_ of the sort!" Albel says, his voice reaching octaves previously unknown to mankind. Cliff is amazed his eardrums don't simply combust from the pressure. "Next thing you know you'll be thinking that I spent the entire time _pining_ for you. Well, I've got news for you but you can take yourself and that interfering scum right out of there. This is our problem and despite what you outsiders think, we can take care of it, and besides that you have no right to be here and—"

"Well, I missed you."

Amazingly enough, this causes Albel to fall silent. That had not been Cliff's intention when he had said those words, as they really had just slipped out. Probably for the same reason why he had jumped out of that ship, knowing full well that while Albel _could_ just let him fall, he wouldn't. Although even if he had misjudged the swordsman, he might have managed to hitch a ride on a less friendly dragon and send its rider to the ground, simply following Albel and prepping to give the guy the biggest beat-down he could possibly muster (before making up for it with nice sex, anyway). Barring that, there _was_ the possibility that he might have even survived the fall, although he supposes that would have been a long shot. But hey, nothing wrong with a little optimism, right?

None of this mattered anyway because he had not miscalculated, and Albel's dragon had caught him before he could kiss the sweet ground and his life good-bye.

He can't help but grin at that tidbit of information, as it shows that despite how Albel tries to deny it, the guy does have a heart after all. Sure, for the most part Albel seems hell-bent on acting otherwise, but once push comes to shove that shriveled little raisin comes into play and does something like this, and Cliff is damned grateful for that.

He's also pleased that he hasn't made a mistake in choosing his 'special someone', despite the skepticism of his friends. It's not that he doesn't see their point, considering how Albel Nox is an arrogant prick with serious anger management issues and a self-loathing complex, but it isn't so bad once you get used to it. Arrogant, bitter, and a total _ass_ Albel may be, but it's such a nice ass and Cliff has always been a sucker for a pretty face. Which Albel would have if it wasn't always scrunched up in a scowl of perpetual distaste, but then again that's what makes the whole thing so damned _interesting_. It's difficult to explain and Cliff doesn't really bother to because most people—i.e., Mirage—start tuning him out after a while. But the point is that he rather does like Albel, and he knows Albel must like him back or his advances wouldn't have been tolerated. Seeing how he's still in possession of all working limbs and important man bits, he cannot be so delusional as to have just imagined it. Especially since if there's one person who would make good on a threat to eviscerate someone who irritated him, it would most certainly be Albel.

And not to beat a dead horse, but Albel _could_ have just let him fall, which he obviously didn't. That had to count for something, even if Albel didn't go with him.

Granted, he had not actually asked the Elicoorian to do so when they had parted ways. The question was implicit, but he knows Albel well enough to know that the guy knew exactly what he wanted to say. And just as Cliff had not needed to straight out ask, Albel had not had to actually give him a verbal confirmation of refusal.

To be honest, it maddens him, in a way that only Albel can do, that a person who could willingly leave his home planet for no reason—despite a distinct possibility that his little joy ride might mean he would never be able to make it back—could not do it again when there actually was one. He admits that the rejection, if it could even be called that, hurts. But he's not bitter about it. Perhaps it's because he's surprised that Albel could have made such a decision the first time around, so he really shouldn't be ragging on the guy for doing the 'reasonable' thing the second time. Sure, he wishes it could have been otherwise but it isn't, and Cliff is not the kind of person to dwell on this sort of thing. They've got bigger things to worry about, and while he knows that, he cannot help but take this moment to… well, think about it. Maybe he shouldn't be focusing on himself when all of Elicoor II is in danger, but it's not like he has anything better to do right now.

They have the time, and considering how things are looking, this might very well be the only time that they will have.

"There's something we have to take care of at the castle," Albel suddenly interrupts his reverie, voice calm and completely neutral. "If we can do that, this… war will be over."

"What, just like that? By ourselves?"

Albel glares. Okay, so he's not sure of that seeing how he technically can't see the guy, but it's a reasonable assumption to make. "I can go by myself, if you prefer."

And that is another item on the list of things he likes about Albel (and yes, there is a list, with reasons somewhat more substantial than the fact that he's oddly pretty). Anyone else, anyone… _reasonable_ would not be trying to solve an entire war all on his own. A normal, reasonable, _boring_ person would perhaps wait to get a little help, but Albel doesn't bother with that sort of thing—he sees the solution and goes for it, and doesn't stop to apologize for his hastiness. Cliff acts on his hunches and Albel runs on something entirely different from the rest of mankind, and what should have gotten him killed long ago has instead managed to work in a way that only Albel can do. The idiosyncrasy of such a thing is appealing and one of Albel's more interesting traits, even if it does have a tendency of getting them all in trouble when the guy rushes off to do his own thing, not bothering to wait for back-up and apparently not at all aware—or just forcefully ignoring the fact—that there are people who are willing to give him help.

Cliff's not planning on letting him forget that this time, and so he grins. "Great. Going to give me any more details than that?"

"No. Why would the great meddler himself need anything like that?" is the contemptuous reply. Then, in a bizarre change in subject, Albel observes, "That can't be comfortable."

Wow, speak of the obvious. Of course being held in a dragon's mouth would not be pleasant, even if the dragon is taking care not to hurt him. Still, he swears he can feel the flames burning his hair. "No, not really."

"I wasn't talking to you, fool."

Before he can ask exactly what _that_ means, the dragon's mouth opens in a throaty laugh. He has approximately half a second to comprehend exactly what this means before experiencing it for himself.

And oh_ shit _he's_**falling**_.

It's not a very long fall, and he's at the middle-end of an edited version of his life flashing before his very eyes when the dragon's claws grab him. Somewhere between lusting after Albel and drunkenly mistaking a Sootie for a cushion, Cliff snaps out of it and gamely tries not to embarrass himself by shrieking like a banshee, but it's a close call and Albel's laughter combined with the dragon's low rumble is _not_ helping the situation with his stomach at all.

He opens his mouth to snarl—or possibly just to whine or better yet, hurl all over the landscape below—but then realizes that if he cranes his head _very_ carefully, he can look up Albel's skirt from this position.

* * *

Riding on dragons has never been the highlight of Cliff's existence, unless highlight has recently changed meaning to be the absolute _worst_ moment of his life. Crosell had been the only exception, owing to his massive bulk that made it somewhat more bearable, but most dragons were _not_ Crosell. Consequently, Cliff's experiences with dragons in general were pretty much on-par with Albel's—well, at least before, since Albel seems quite buddy-buddy with this particular evil flying… thing.

Simply put, he does not like the damn things, especially after all those times of having Albel's Dragon Brigade 'comrades' (read, cowed subordinates) cart them from place to place. Prior to _that_ enlightening experience, Cliff hadn't even known what airsickness _was_. But after that first trip from Airyglyph to the Mountains of Barr, Cliff's stomach contents had become very well-acquainted with his throat and he had subsequently insisted on walking—only to be promptly outvoted every single time. Even Albel, who did not seem to enjoy riding the dragons any more than he did—although it had less to do with physical queasiness than mental scarring—had cast his opposing vote with a certain amount of sadistic relish that had convinced Cliff that the reason why democracies never worked as well as they did in theory stood right before him. That and the fact that Cliff really wanted to pummel the guy's ass, although as time had gone on the precise meaning of that statement had changed _considerably_.

Getting back to the point, this time proves to be of no exception to his prior experiences, if perhaps somehow _worse_ than the despairingly low standards made before. And yet when they land and he stumbles away from the dragon, trying not to vomit all over the place, Cliff finds himself distracted from his own issues when he gets a good look at Albel. Quite suddenly, he is wishing rather desperately that they could still be in the air.

Especially when he gets an eyeball's worth of Albel's little… change.

_Holy fucking a' shit_ turns out to be the politically correct way of describing his impression of it.

Maybe it's weird that he could have forgotten something as drastic as Albel's rather disturbing gender change, but when you're hurling yourself out of a ship in order to be reunited with your long lost now-unidentifiable-gender-friend, key facts apparently tend to slip right out of the brain. That's the only excuse he can come up with anyway, and while it isn't a very good one, it's the only one he can make when his brain is no longer being very coherent due to a desperate concentration on keeping his eyeballs in their respective sockets.

And it's not like he hasn't gotten used to the idea that Albel isn't quite the same as he used to be. 'Cause he had, in a theoretical sense, prepared himself for this very moment, and even managed to convince himself that despite certain… additions, Albel was still Albel, which translates to the very important fact that Albel Nox is _not to be trifled with if one values important body parts that make life much more pleasant than it otherwise would be_.

But despite this very, very key fact, combined with the logic that this might not be the best idea he's ever had, all he can do right now is stare. Although, if he was thinking coherently which he clearly is not, he could have attributed that to the fact that he has not seen Albel in so long, and just wants to look at him for a while.

The funny thing about that is that in a way, Albel looks precisely the same as he remembered except for that single, fundamental change. And the hair, which is no longer in its customary style but instead tied back into a simple ponytail. Without the white wrapping, he can see that the black fades into the gold higher up now, but even that change is minimal compared to the _really big one._

Still, there's so much that is the same that it's all the more surreal. For one thing, Albel is still wearing his usual outfit, minus the metal collar and the long glove on his right hand which now covers the matching left arm, something that Cliff cannot help but be weirded out by. It's not that he likes the metal claw—far from it, considering what it represented and how much it bloody hurt when Albel was trying to claw the skin off his back—but he realizes that he was at least used to it, and it's just strange when it's no longer there. It makes Albel look distinctly less intimidating, something he doubts would be appreciated if he voices that particular thought.

Another thing that strikes him is the fact that Albel no longer looks so skinny. He's always resembled a toothpick (another thought he keeps to himself since he does not much relish the thought of having several said toothpicks sticking out of his eyeballs, an event that is sure to happen should he mention it to the swordsman's face), but maybe it's the lack of the claw or the overall change but Albel's thinness seems more… natural, rather than being anorexically induced.

But as natural as that might seem, it cannot counteract the fact that although Albel looks so similar to his male counterpart, he looks so different at the same time that it is all just… wrong.

"Stop staring at me like that, maggot," Albel snaps angrily. It takes a moment for the words to register because the voice doesn't sound like Albel's. Before he could not hear the swordsman very clearly due to the rush of the wind, and even then there had been something off about it. He originally attributed that difference to the background noise and the blood roaring in his eyes, but now there is no excuse for it. Albel's deep voice is no more, replaced instead by something unfamiliar. But then, it still has that good old fashioned Albel Nox charm that makes it so wonderfully endearing, threatening torturous death if he does not immediately cease and desist. He gulps and immediately looks up at Albel's face, which like the rest of him is both similar and so very different. To his surprise, Albel looks slightly disconcerted by the open gawking, although it's covered by a deep-rooted annoyance and his typical fierceness. But there's also something else there, something that is presently unidentifiable if only because Cliff is not sure he wants to know what it is. Because it is a clear sign that Albel has gone through this before, and—

_Vox_.

The name is enough to stop all coherent thought. Not enough to stop _incoherent_ thought (and there's a shitload of that to go around), but he automatically sees Albel in a different light. And he almost, _almost_ apologizes.

It's a close call, in-between the mental curses (the incoherent thought process kicking in big time) of exactly how he could have been so stupid as to forget something as important as that. What manages to stop him is the fact that while the sentiment might be appreciated—debatable and decidedly _very_ doubtful—he doubts that Albel wants to be reminded of something (or someone) like that. He doesn't know the details of what happened but he has a feeling that he may simply not want to, although he doubts that they will be able to avoid it forever. Luckily there's something more important to deal with right now, although it's his humble opinion that it's definitely a sign that shit is happening when saving the world can be considered a welcome distraction.

Despite this decision, he can't help but seethe inside. The very thought of scum like Vox getting anywhere near Albel is enough to make him want to go right back to the Aire Hills and personally beat the pulp right out of him, and only the fact that there probably wouldn't be much point in doing that stops him. The thought is awfully tempting though, in a self-gratifying (and delusional) sorta way, but just not very helpful to the current situation.

He doesn't really know what he _could_ say right now though, which might be why he ends up doing what he does, even though it's a really stupid thing. But the words slip out before he can stop them, and he's already wincing as he asks, "Uh… are you alright, Albel?"

The question is justifiable. And if it was anyone else, it might even be expected. But this is Albel, and it's really, really not a good idea to ask. He knows that. Which is precisely why he's a moron and deserves the shit that will be happening in less than three seconds.

Albel immediately stiffens at that, red eyes narrowing as he asks sharply, "Why the hell do you ask?"

Well, all things considered it's pretty obvious, but maybe Albel's just in denial. Or maybe he's just freaking suicidal. "Uh, well-"

He doesn't have time to finish that thought, whatever it was supposed to be as Albel continues angrily, "I suppose you think I can't possibly be able to handle this, that I'm too weak or useless or-"

Cliff nearly sputters at that, wondering how Albel's twisted little brain could have possibly made that jump even as he says, "Shit, that isn't what I'm saying!"

"Oh, isn't it, Fittir? Then why the hell are you even here if you're not going to goddamn watch over me like I can't do anything on my own?!"

"I was worried about you!"

"_Why_?!"

At this point, Cliff can only wonder if Albel is asking because he's angry or if it's because he truly cannot comprehend why someone might be worried for reasons other than believing that he's not capable of dealing with this situation on his own. He doesn't want to believe that it's the latter, but then he's not really sure if the Elicoorian can accept any reason other than the first, especially if Cliff's only reason was that he _cared_. For him, it's more enough than enough of a reason in a romantic, silly sort of way, but for Albel he doesn't really think it's enough. Maybe it's more a question of whether it's because Albel doesn't think anyone could care for him that way or because he simply doesn't _want_ anyone to feel so strongly. He had heard the story of Glou Nox from Woltar, and combined with Albel's peculiar brand of self-loathing, he has a feeling that this might be the source of the guy's many, many mental defects.

Not that it makes it any easier to accept, simply put. Or to understand Albel's current behavior, which could be politely termed 'antagonistic' but was more along the lines of borderline stark-raving mad. Then again, not many are suicidal enough to try and get a read on Albel—not as much because they fear the guy's wrath but because it's probably too mind-boggling to do without losing a few brain cells in the process, and even then you probably wouldn't accomplish enough to make the loss worth the theoretical benefits.

He can't help but feel a little frustrated with this, and he asks, "Look, don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

It doesn't take very long to figure out that this is another major mistake on his part (he seems to be having that problem a lot lately), and he's almost surprised that his hand isn't rolling on the ground. This in itself is _not_ an overreaction, as the sword at his neck seems not as much a threat as a promise unless he can give a very good, concise reason for why he should _not_ be dead.

Albel hasn't lost any of his speed from his change. He might even be a little faster—no metal arm to weigh him down?—but that's not really the point as Cliff stares into angry eyes.

He hasn't spontaneously combusted yet, but it's certainly not for lack of trying.

"You think this is easy?" Albel hisses, his rage so thick that Cliff is surprised the guy doesn't just slit his throat and be done with it already. That might make this easier on the both of them, but since when have either of them ever been satisfied with taking the easy path? "You think I _wanted_ something like this?"

Leave it to Albel to totally misinterpret his words. Not that Cliff can blame him, technically.

_Technically_.

"'Course not!" he snaps, but it doesn't take half a brain to figure out that Albel is nowhere near interested in listening to him anymore. If their positions had been switched, Cliff doubts he would be any more accommodating, but that doesn't make this any more bearable. "I'm just saying-"

"Saying _what_?"

"Look, I know you're angry." He wracks his brain, trying to figure out exactly what is behind Albel's latest mental breakdown, "But you know, there's nothing wrong with being a woman, and-"

He's cut off from the rest of that particular train of thought (wherever it was going because he has a feeling that he was completely on the wrong track anyway) by a sharp laugh. "You think that's what this is about, fool? I know that, you moron. I _know_. So believe it or not but this isn't about the fucking gender. I can deal with it; I _have_ been for all this time. What the hell did you think I was doing? Fiddling my thumbs and _waiting_ for you to rescue me? No, I've learned to live with this despite what you people might think.

"But what I can't stand about this is how it's changed how you maggots see me, as if I'm to be coddled or taken care of or _worse_. I'm not different or weaker or anything like that so for fuck's sake stop treating me as if I'm about to break! I hate it! I hate being looked down at, and treated as if I'm incompetent or useless or just there to be taken advantage of! I hate the fact that scum like Vox can do that, and I hate _myself_ for not being able to stop them! And then for you to come here and tell me that I'm _overreacting_ when you're treating me the same exact way as everyone else makes me _sick_!"

Albel is shaking by this point, making it doubly amazing that his head is not rolling on the ground. But he gets it. He gets what Albel is saying and he understands where the guy's coming from, but he doesn't agree with everything that's being said. "You're not being very fair right now, Albel. That isn't what I'm trying to say or do, or anything like that despite what you might think. I just-"

"You just _what_?" Albel snaps. "If that isn't a fair assessment, then just tell me what the hell you _are_ trying to do, Cliff?!"

The use of his name—his _first_ name no less—stops him dead in his tracks, as if his brain has simply ceased to function with that single word.

To be honest, he isn't sure what it is that makes him just… stop. Maybe it's because… well, it's fairly obvious by now that this isn't a typical Albel Nox temper tantrum. He's gone through enough of those to recognize the difference. This isn't the guy flying off the handle over some small slight, but rather something more… substantial, maybe. He doesn't know if that's precisely it, but whatever is going on right now, he just feels like he doesn't have the right to say anything.

But still, he's got to say _something_.

"Maybe you're right, and I don't have any reason to worry about you," he finally says after a tense moment. Amazing that Albel is patient enough to hear him out, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth (or however the saying goes. Even if that's right, it doesn't really make much sense now that he thinks about it. Why would someone want to look in a horse's mouth anyway? Those animals were _evil_.) "And I know you can take care of yourself. But I can't help but be worried anyway. And it's not you, alright? It really isn't. It's just that…"_ I care about you_. That's what he wants to say, but instead his voice trails off, unable to go any further.

But apparently it's enough. After a long moment of appraising each other, Albel suddenly turns away, removing the sword's edge from Cliff's throat almost as quickly as he had put it there in the first place.

"I'm going to finish this." The words are quiet, barely audible over the chilly wind blowing through Airyglyph castle. "And nothing you say or do is going to stop me." Albel is obviously trying his best to make the words sound as venomous as he can manage, but the effect still seems rather half-hearted at best. Cliff can't help but grin at that, something Albel thankfully cannot see.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, trotting after the swordsman. "But, uh, mind telling me where the hell we're going?"

* * *

"Well, this isn't creepy at all." By 'this', he refers to the crypt that they are currently striding through as casually as if it was a field of daisies. Well, as long as you aren't allergic to the damn things, which Cliff actually sorta maybe _is_. Not deathly so, of course, but enough to be potentially embarrassing. Still, a runny nose is nothing compared to this current scenery, where any abrupt sounds could very well cause him to piss his pants. It is seriously _that_ creepy, but Albel doesn't seem at all concerned by it.

"Nobody told you to come," Albel replies peevishly.

"Yah, well, when I find this Nobody I'm going to give him a beat down," Cliff mutters, but to this Albel does not reply. He's not sure if it's because the joke has gone over the guy's head or if it's because he's distracted by the creepy aura of death that is permeating this place. Judging by Albel's rigid stance, he's going to go with the latter.

Albel hasn't said much since they entered the castle, and Cliff has made it a point to keep his mouth shut (not as much because he's afraid that Albel might hit him, but more because he doesn't trust what might come out of it) as they made their way to the dungeons. They met a few of Vox's men on the way, but most of them had been caught off guard by their sudden appearance when one person was technically supposed to be across the country and the other on a different _planet_, and had thus been dispatched quickly and efficiently with little effort on their behalf.

Not to say that they are actually dead, but rather just in enough pieces that they won't be causing too much trouble anymore.

Anyhow, he had been a little worried when they had entered the dungeons, not exactly having the most delightful memories of the place. But the experience had been relatively short as Albel had stopped midway through and frowned at the end of a particularly dank and creepy (serious overuse of the word but it's the only way to describe the place) corridor. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was glaring at—Cliff may not have memorized the layout of the Airyglyph dungeons, but he was fairly certain that the last time he checked, there were not mysterious stairwells leading to what seemed like the depths of hell. Which was of course the stairway that they had taken, and Cliff is starting to wonder if maybe he is suicidal enough to just knock Albel out and run the hell away from this place.

Although it might be less suicidal tendencies than the self-preservation kicking in.

But he trusts Albel enough to think that there has to be some point to this, even if he doesn't know what it is. At this rate though, he's too busy hoping he'll _live_ long enough to find out than to worry about the exact details.

The stairway had led to what seems to be a crypt, except it's not one meant for mere mortals. The names on the tombs are incomprehensible and the surroundings foreboding, and it's Cliff's humble opinion that the sooner this is over the sooner he'll be able to breathe again, and it's not the smell that he's referring to. There's something about this place that makes his skin crawl, but backing out isn't exactly an option anymore so he tries to distract himself by focusing on Albel's hair, which swishes back and forth and looks very tempting to bat at. Which might be a continuation of the _suicidal tendencies_, but at this point Albel deserves it and he'll gladly make an excuse to break one of those pretty legs if it means getting them the hell out of here.

Albel suddenly stops, and he nearly runs into the Elicoorian. This is due not to the fact that he doesn't have fabulous reflexes—he _does_, thank you very much—but because he's too busy staring at the figure in front of them, which is quite obviously the reason why Albel has stopped. He's trying to figure out if it's just an apparition or something of the like, but seeing how he's obviously not the only one seeing things pretty much decides that question, and he tries to find his voice to ask Albel exactly what the hell is going on. Something, granted, he should have asked a heck of a lot earlier, but hey, better late than never right?

"You surprise me again, Albel Nox," the figure says, effectively preventing any semblance of a question from coming out of his mouth. "I did not think you would bring anyone."

"He followed me," Albel replies coolly. "And I don't recall you telling me to come alone."

"Indeed, I did not," is the affable reply. "Will you introduce us?"

He can imagine Albel's lips pulling back into a frosty smile, "I doubt that they'll be any point in that."

This should probably be the point where they would both launch themselves into a devastating attack, quickly dispatching the enemy and thus saving this world, etc, etc, so they can have glorious sex afterwards if Albel allows it. But unfortunately things never seem to turn out the way that they are supposed to, and he's not referring to that last part. Instead of moving forward, as he obviously intends to, Cliff finds himself being somewhat weighed down by the several zombies that have pulled themselves out of the earth, each trying to become disturbingly intimate with his limbs as the weight of their dead flesh practically drags him to the ground. He yells in surprise and looks up, only to find Albel in a similar predicament, the Crimson Scourge that was halfway out of its sheathe dropping to the ground with an ominous sound.

"_Indeed. There truly is no point in introductions_," the man says in a voice that sounds like a death rattle. "_For you both will die here_."

If it had been anyone else, the effect would have been painfully melodramatic. Here, it was simply terrifying in its dark promise.

Oh _shit_.

End Notes:  
I realize that in Albel's solo ending, the confrontation between Romero and Albel seems to take place in what seems like a lower dungeon (even though he says it's a place _below_ the dungeons, so that didn't make much sense to me personally). I wrote this prior to viewing that scene, but even afterwards I decided not to change it because I thought a crypt would just be more visually interesting.  
And on the subject of the solo ending, Romero's voice seemed sorta… petulant. Was it just me?  
On an extremely random note, Fayt's paired ending? With Adray. I realize that it's all about the private actions, but considering how **I never used the character**, it still makes me go WTF. Majorly so.

PM


	16. Albel Nox Final Take

Title: Drag  
Coupling: Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel  
Disclaimer: Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.  
Summary: Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this development, to say the least.  
Rating: M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird shit.  
Notes: Not much to say from here, but many thanks to Sahara dearest for beta-ing!

_sixteen_

Things have had the rather irritating tendency as of late of not going according to plan. Then again, they've never really done so in the first place, but Albel is not one to deal with insignificant details right now. He would much rather just blame everything on the dragon and leave it at that, and while it may seem like a petty thing to do considering how much the dragon has 'technically' helped him, he is fairly certain he can trace the source of all his current problems to that damned beast.

For a start, he had most certainly not meant to save Fittir. Far from it, actually, because if it had been up to him the fool would have been another victim on the battlefield—albeit a more _flattened_ one. But one of the side effects of bonding with the dragon, however sudden and unwilling the both of them were, meant that the dragon would be affected by his emotions. So while the logical side of his brain had absolutely no intention of preventing Fittir from meeting a gloriously messy ending on the ground, his irritating emotions must have wanted otherwise. Not that this is enough to put the blame on him; no, the practical part of him would have still done nothing to keep Fittir from falling, but the dragon must have decided otherwise because the next thing he knew, it was flying down to catch the fool.

Perhaps some part of him had anticipated the move, as his hands had already been clenched tightly around the harness and his body tense in preparation for the sudden drop, his stomach barely protesting when the dragon pulled sharply out of the dive, its target safely—as safe as one could be in a dragon's mouth anyway—clenched in its teeth.

Humph. Well, Fittir had deserved that. The fool had barely escaped death as it was, and he should have to suffer for his blatant stupidity somehow.

But how much of that stupidity he personally shared was up in the air. Even now, he could not believe that he had broken down as he had when confronted by Fittir with such… ridiculous accusations and insinuations! Again, he was more than able (and _willing_)to point the finger at the dragon, as the raw openness he had felt from the bonding affected him more than he had anticipated. Perhaps there was a reason why Dragon Brigade members bonded with monsters that they themselves had chosen; compatibility was as much a part of the equation as worthiness, but in this case both 'compatibility' and 'worthiness' were just two words that held little meaning in the real world. Ideally, yes, they would be of some import. But at that time and place, he had more important things to worry about, and only later when he had been ready to slice open Fittir's neck did he realize exactly how much of himself he had given up to the dragon.

Then again, 'given up' might not be the exact word and phrasing he should be putting it, but it seems more than enough right now. At that point though, nothing had really quite mattered because by that time he was more than willing to simply unload all of his anger and frustrations onto the hapless fool who had so aptly reminded him of all the things he had been trying to forget, effectively provoking him into the breakdown he had spent so long trying to avoid. It is just another reason to hate Fittir all the more, in his opinion, but he knows that won't be happening no matter how hard he tries.

And he has. Often. But his feelings had not changed in the least because there is just something about the man that makes him so… different, even from the other outworlders. Albel has no idea why this is, but he had at least finally come to accept it as fact. Even Leingod, who had been the first to truly acknowledge him as something other than a former enemy with a mission to complete, did not really compare to Fittir. At least, not in the way that really mattered, which translated to the one that made him feel flushed when the man did something… kind to him, something that was a rare enough of an event as it was but one that had become strangely commonplace amongst those strange people.

He still remembers that day, when he had still been recovering from being shot at by the Vendeeni. Fittir had come to check up on him even though he had insisted that he was fine, and he would have gladly thrown the man out if he could. But he couldn't, and Fittir had at least made an effort not to make him feel like an invalid, instead just sitting next to him and starting to explain the mechanics of the celestial ship he had so suddenly found himself on.

When he had interrupted Fittir during a completely incomprehensible clarification of why he shouldn't be pushing the brightly marked red buttons by the doors leading outside to ask exactly what the hell Fittir thought he was doing, the man had gone silent. Before Albel could make a sarcastic observation of Fittir's continued lack of brain cells, the fool had suddenly started rambling about how confusing he was and if he even understood what he was doing, and what was it about him that could let him give up so much in order to just go kill something because that was really an inappropriate—_since when?_—attitude to be having and-

There was only so much of it he could take before he got irritated. Maybe that was why he had just grabbed Fittir and kissed him, which he would forever argue was for the sole purpose of shutting the man up without resorting to violence.

When he had realized what he was doing, his first reaction was to push Fittir away and cut some new holes into him even though it had not even been his fault, but his second reaction stayed his hand before he could reach for his weapon. Instead, he had found himself responding in a more unexpected way, despite the fact that he had never done this sort of thing before. But his inexperience had not really mattered to Fittir, who had abruptly broken the kiss and backed away, looking both startled and sheepish, as if he could not believe what had happened.

It was around this point that it had sunk into Albel's brain what had happened too, and he had immediately started reaching for his sword as he spat, _"I just needed to shut you up."_

_"Was that it?"_ Fittir had responded, no longer looking so surprised but more calm. _"Seems to me there are easier ways of going about it."_

_"…"_ He didn't even bother to respond to that. Not that he knew how to even if he had wanted to. But then, it didn't matter as suddenly Fittir was kissing him again.

The second kiss had lasted comparatively longer than the first. He blames that on brain damage suffered from the Vendeeni attack.

_"Didn't think you'd let me do that_," Fittir said sheepishly when they broke off.

_"Don't assume, maggot,"_ he had snapped back.

Whether it would have gone any farther than that would forever be unknown, as it was at that point the alarm had gone off. And since then… well, they'd never had any time to slow down and figure out exactly what was going on and what they wanted, instead suddenly swept into an unbelievable realm of worms who claimed that they were nothing more than data. The others had seemed very disconcerted by this fact, although he had never really understood what the hell was the problem. They existed, and that was enough. He knew what he had gone through, what he had done, what had been _done to him_, and he wasn't about to believe that none of it really mattered. What he did understand, however, was that their worlds were in danger, and if he continued on with Fittir, Leingod, and the others, he would be able to vent his frustrations on more interesting beings.

Throughout the entire 'saving the world' business, in the background, there had always been the memory of that kiss. He had pushed it aside, but he couldn't forget it completely either. He didn't let it keep him from doing what needed to be done and neither did Fittir, but he had often wondered what would have happened if they'd had a few moment's peace to figure things out. But they never did, and when Fittir had left with the other maggots, he had pushed all of that aside to concentrate on the present.

When thinking about it, he had simply decided that what they'd shared had simply not been enough to make it last. He had in fact assumed that it was over when Fittir had gone without saying a word, although he had certainly implied enough. But everything was too new and his psychological wounds still too fresh even after so many years for him to really consider leaving with the Klausian. It required too much blind faith in something whose existence he could barely acknowledge, and even if the circumstances had been different he does not think he would have agreed anyway. It was really asking for too much, although the very fact that Fittir could be brave enough to ask had been interesting enough in itself. Such an act implied some faith on his part as well; Fittir had wanted him to stay, and believed that it would have worked if he had. Or that there was enough there that they should at least make the attempt. It had certainly not been enough, but interesting nevertheless.

But really, it was not enough for him to forget the fact that he had not meant to fall into anything, as short-lasting as it had seemed to be. Getting close was something he typically avoided, having learned the error of such weaknesses when he had watched his father burn.

It was not as much the fact that his father had died than _why_ Glou had perished which got him; because of his inability to let go of himself, to bond with the dragon, his father had burned. And if he could not let go of himself before, _if he could not let go of himself when it would have saved his father_, how could he ever do such a thing for anyone else? If not for Glou Nox, captain of the Dragon Brigade, paver of a new era for Airyglyph, the only man he had respected as a superior and a father, then for _who_?

What Fittir asked for though, was not for him to do any of that. He never asked for change; Albel had done that on his own, through the influences of those around him. Fittir had accepted him for who he was—flaws, weaknesses, and all—and was willing to jump out of a ship without any guarantee of a reciprocation of feelings that were necessary to saving him from certain doom.

Albel could have let him fall, and he probably should have just to teach him a lesson. But he didn't. The dragon didn't.

A dragon had killed his father. A dragon saved the person who he might just one day admit to caring for.

It is ironic, really, that because of a bond with a dragon he had been able to save Cliff Fittir when the failure to bond before had resulted in the loss of his father.

It is painfully ironic, in fact, and even now he isn't sure if he should thank the dragon or kill himself where he stands as punishment for his ugly, ugly failings.

Of course, at the rate things are going, he's not going to have to make the choice himself anymore.

Breathing is once again a task, although this time it has less to do with his lungs' capability than the fact that the foul stench of the rotting corpses makes the air simply _unbearable_, no matter how necessary oxygen is to bodily functions.

But apparently fools do not require air in order to continue to be moronic, as Fittir so aptly demonstrates as the ox continues to try and maintain (and succeeds, much to Albel's quiet irritation) his standing position even as the corpses continue to gather on top of him. More seem to come out of the ground as Fittir struggles to stay upright, perhaps in reaction to the perceived threat he presents. Albel isn't sure how much of a threat Fittir _can_ be, considering Romero.

Of course, this would have to bring about the question of what kind of a threat _he_ can be to Romero, and if one continues on that train of thought, then why would he have come here in the first place? Perhaps it was not the most logical thing, running off without a word of explanation, but what else could he have done? Waited for someone to do something when there was a war going on right then and there? Everyone has a place and role, and considering how Romero introduced himself to Albel, it would seem that this is setting up exactly what that role is supposed to be.

This is not to say that Albel believes in destiny or fate. He does not believe in the gods or anything along those lines because even if there were gods, wouldn't they have better things to do than mess around with the lives of mere mortals? No, all the problems are caused by the living, no matter what people might think. Even here… while Romero was the one to bring the dead back to some form of existence on their plane of living, he does not seem to be ordering them to do anything in particular. That is all Vox, his pettiness, stupidity, and cruelty acting together to create this poor excuse of a war.

But if that is the case, then what purpose would Romero have in bringing Vox and his band of idiots back?

"I don't suppose someone would want to explain this to me anytime soon?" Fittir suddenly says. It looks like he has finally stopped struggling, and it isn't certain who he is addressing… Albel or Romero. Albel just snorts and looks away, trying his best to remain perfectly still even as he eyes the katana that is at his feet.

"I am a servant of the gods, created by Folstar, the God of Death."

"That… really doesn't tell me very much."

If Albel was near a wall, he would probably start hitting his head against it. For now, he can only let out a sharp bark of laughter, something that garners what could have passed for an irritated expression from Romero. This does not last long as the being turns back to Fittir, "I am Romero, king of the dead. You are not of this world."

"Not really, no," Fittir replies easily, not the least bit phased by the abrupt shift in topic.

Romero cocks his head slightly, looking over at Albel, "You truly are interesting, Albel Nox."

He snorts again and braves the stench of the corpses to snap, "So you've said."

"So I have," Romero replies agreeably. "It would be a shame to kill either of you. Perhaps you would prefer-"

"The answer is still no," he says. "What would make you think that it's changed? You've given me no reason to accept."

"What of your companion?" Romero asks, not even bothering to look over at said companion. His eyes remain instead on Albel, as if expecting him to answer for Fittir.

"Sorry," Fittir answers, proving that he is not as useless as he tries to be at times. "But I don't believe in the gods."

"Is that perhaps because the gods have abandoned you?"

Where the _fuck_ did that come from?

"No, I just don't," is Fittir's blunt yet oddly cheerful response before Albel can say something stupid. He has to admit, it's quite an impressive answer, but Romero doesn't seem nearly as amused by it as he is. Instead, something seems to flicker in his eyes as he inspects the two of them, before apparently deciding that ignoring it might be the easiest course of action. It is a reaction that Albel is rather used to, seeing how Vox has the same tendency of ignoring anything that does not go his way. The bastard got to be very good at it, to the point that he would believe his own damn delusions no matter how unrealistic they were. "But what about you? I'm guessing you're the guy who's responsible for this mess. Care to enlighten us _mere mortals_ why that is?"

"I was… bored," Romero replies with a slight shrug. The dramatic pause between the word almost makes him sneer, although that might just be because he understands that particular sentiment.

"Yeah, well, when I get bored I don't raise an army of undead and send them to raze the countryside."

Romero looks at Fittir as if he is not particularly sure why he is being told such a useless fact. "I am not like you, mortal."

"That much is obvious," Albel cuts in. Not literally, unfortunately, seeing how he's still being smothered by a gaggle of zombies.

"Is it?" Romero asks, returning his emotionless gaze to Albel, who glares right back. "It seems to me that you are still trying to place me on the same level as yourself."

"Lower," he sneers right back.

Romero doesn't even bat an eye, although that might be because the king of the dead doesn't blink as he replies calmly, "That does seem rather like you."

"As if you know anything about me."

Romero tilts his head slightly, "Do I not? I have been watching you for quite some time, you realize. You are good at hiding your insecurities behind that mask of anger, but it lurks there still, does it not? You may react with violence when Duke Vox comes near you, but the fear that-"

"Shut _up_." Perhaps it's not the wisest thing to be cutting off Romero, but Albel is far beyond the point of caring. How _dare_ this… monstrosity use that against him, when all he wants to do is _forget_, but he can't forget something like this, not ever, although he's learned to deal with it for the time being. But the horror he feels, when Vox is anywhere near him, and the _looks_ he gets from the people surrounding him… the bastard, the _fucking bastard_ for bringing this up, for reminding him why he can't peacefully sleep at night, knowing, knowing, _knowing_ that Vox might show up at anytime. Because that is what has happened before, and what can always happen, and he cannot rest until this is done with and he can finally have some semblance of peace of mind again. "Don't you _dare_ finish that statement, you poor excuse of a spirit. You ask if we have been abandoned by the gods but that seems more applicable to you, doesn't it? Is that why you turn your attentions to our affairs, interfering because you need to have some control over anything at all, to make you feel like you have power as well? You may be the king of the dead, but if these are your only servants, then it's easy to see that you have a crap job that is far from necessary. _Your_ gods don't seem to give a rat's ass what becomes of you, although considering how utterly useless you are, it's not hard to tell why that is!"

Romero does not move throughout this, but the silence that follows it is death implied. But Albel doesn't care anymore, twisting his lips into a smirk, "Hit a nerve, haven't I?"

"You know nothing of what you speak, mortal." But the voice does not sound as sure of itself as it had before, and he really must restrain himself to keep from letting out a depreciating laugh.

"Considering how you're acting like a scared child, I somehow doubt it. Is that what this is, _abandonment issues_?"

At this, Romero does not even bother to reply. Instead, he prepares to backhand Albel, causing him to tense in preparation for the blow. But it never comes as Romero goes flying instead, thanks to a punch that sends the being clear across the room.

It is slightly unexpected, as Albel had been so focused on Romero and his own personal angsts to notice that Fittir had managed to pry some of the bodies off of him. With Romero's attention equally focused on Albel, no new zombies had sprung up to take the place of those who had been removed, somehow allowing Fittir to break free of them all. He has little time to ponder this as the corpses holding onto him start to shudder from Romero's lapse of concentration, not releasing their grips but loosening it enough to allow him to swoop down and pick up his sword. They're still holding onto him but he's armed now and ready to kill, even if these things are already dead. It's never as fun killing something that's already three-quarters in the grave, but he's willing to make an exception as he slashes the bodies clinging to him. They let out small screams at they turn to dust, but there's little time for him to listen as Romero straightens, in the process pulling out a long, ghostly sword of his own.

He can sense Fittir tensing behind him, the Klausian intelligent enough not to go charging at the king of the dead. He himself just tightens his grip on the Crimson Scourge, eyeing Romero with contempt as the being asks, "You would fight me? You do not stand a chance."

"We'll see about that," Fittir replies. Albel should be irritated with his brashness, but he isn't. This is probably 'cause he's barely even listening, instead trying to figure out what Romero's weakness is. The reality is that in his sparring practices with the king of the dead, he's never been able to find a weakness, never been able to get _close_ to beating him. His last attempt had left him bleeding all over the castle and with a new scar to decorate his new arm, and even with Fittir here he knows that logically, they don't stand a chance.

But he also knows that logic has long since ceased to play a role in this merry comedy of errors, starting with the dead rising from their graves and a fucked up gender change before ending with a showdown with a deluded ghost while a celestial ship blasted Vox's army on the surface. For things have had a tendency as of late of not going according to plan, and Albel doesn't see why this trend should only apply to _him_.

"Don't suppose you have a plan right about now?" Fittir asks in a strained voice as Romero begins to advance towards them.

"Do you?" he shoots back. Romero is coming at them with deliberate slowness, as if knowing he has all the time in the world. But it is Albel's experience that overconfidence leads to downfall, no matter how powerful a person might be. You never know when someone with the tenacity of a cockroach might come around, particularly one who is a meddling outworlder who just happens to be standing next to him.

"Not a clue," Fittir grins, and as if on cue, the both of them are moving forward.

Albel reaches Romero first, and his blade is immediately caught by Romero's own ghostly sword. He growls and swings again, only to slash through open air as the bastard disappears, abruptly reappearing behind him. Although unexpected, the move is familiar of some of the stranger 4-D beings they had fought and he quickly turns to block the sword that would have otherwise cleaved him in two.

And then Fittir is there again, all brawn and no tact, but it serves to his advantage as he lands several quick blows to Romero's side. But although caught off-guard Romero seems more prepared for this assault than the last time, recovering quickly and disengaging his blade from the Crimson Scourge to attack Fittir. The Klausian sidesteps the move quickly, while at the same time Albel tries to impale the exposed backside. But Romero counters by teleporting again, this time to the far side of the battlefield. He has barely rematerialized when the sword disappears into wisps of black smoke, curling and expanding outwards towards them as Romero hisses something in a language unknown to any except the dead, who are never in the mood to share their knowledge. He doesn't need to see the crackling intensity of powerful symbology to know that it's there, and even Fittir—who is visibly blind to the magic—can feel the threat that is looming before them.

The distance separating them from Romero is vast in terms of advantage for the enemy, particularly since Fittir is more useful in close-distance attacks than long. Without his claw, he's also more limited in terms of his own range, and he does not know how long they have before the completion of the spell. It is safe to say that once the spell is cast, it will be the end, and recognizing this Fittir is already on the move. But he's nowhere near as fast as he has to be in order to stop Romero from finishing the incantation, something they all know as Romero's eyes seem to flash in dark triumph.

This perhaps is what makes the situation all the more sweeter when Albel simply grits his teeth and _hurls_ the katana with all his might at Romero, the blade flying faster than either he or Fittir could have gone.

The blade pierces the king of the dead precisely where the heart should be, causing him to stop mid-word even as his expression never changes from its passive state. But the eyes seem to flicker and go out as the room goes still, the black clouds instantly disappearing into nothingness as Romero simply topples back, falling to the ground with a soft, almost inaudible thump.

It doesn't make any sense, the ease of this defeat, but frankly Albel's starting to get used to that lack of logic. Still, he clenches his hand into a fist, ready to launch a blast of energy at Romero should the bastard try to get up again—and considering how most everyone he's met recently seems to share that irritating trait of getting right back up after being hit in vital areas, it's a necessary precaution—even though this measure may very well take off his hand should he be forced to go through with it. Fittir has also prepared himself for an attack as they both wait for something to happen, but to their utmost surprise, the silence that had followed Romero's abrupt demise continues to stretch on until Fittir turns to him and says, "Well, that was easier than I expected."

He doesn't reply at first, instead continuing to stare at Romero's still body. He keeps waiting for it to get right back up, just as Vox's had done when he had snapped the bastard's neck. But it seems that the exercise in defying his expectations is continuing still, and after a moment—although never taking his eyes off of Romero—he says, "Don't let it get to your head."

"Why am I not surprised you'd say something like that?" Fittir asks with a mock groan, something he happily ignores as he walks over to the corpse in order to pull free the Crimson Scourge. The sword is obviously not pleased at being used—_abused_, it corrects quite pointedly—in such a manner, but since when did he care?

He's still thinking of some spitting remark he could make to the sword when the corpse pulls itself up, wrapping long pale fingers around the Crimson Scourge's bloody blade as it stands. All he can do now is stare in horror as Romero's blank and impassive expression turns towards them, but this time those excuses for eyeballs are staring right _at_ them instead of through, and Albel would never have thought that he would prefer the latter.

"Jeez, you gotta be kidding me!" Fittir yells, but already the Klausian is moving, rushing at the king of the dead. Albel is right there with him before he can even register what his own body is doing, his automatic response to danger flaring despite the shock that once again, someone who should be dead is declining to remain so. But apparently he is not as surprised as he might have once been, having seen this happen enough times already, and he raises the Crimson Scourge in preparation for a strike when Romero hisses a word and makes a gesture as if swatting away an irritating fly. Suddenly they're knocked back, as if the wind itself has risen up to push them away from the being.

Fittir goes flying from the force of the attack, which is already quite a feat for someone who is built like an ox but more so considering how Albel goes almost nowhere. Instead, his attack simply ends as he falls to his knees from the pressure that seems to push him down to the ground, and he growls as he struggles to stand. But all too quickly Romero is there, looking down at him, the hole left by the killing blow still bleeding copious amounts of black blood. He stares at the liquid as it drips to the ground, pooling around the god's feet and coming towards him like poison.

He is fairly certain that shit is going to _stain_.

Whether or not that is true will likely forever remain a mystery as deathly cold hands reach down to grab him by the shirt, lifting him back up when his own strength and will could not. It does not stop there though; he continues to rise until his feet no longer touch the ground, but somehow he has enough presence of mind to remember the katana still clutched tightly in his left hand, the very feeling of a sword in a palm that had not existed until recently enough to shake him out of his stupor. He raises his hand to stab at Romero again, despite common sense saying that if it didn't do much the first time around it probably wouldn't do much the second time, but before he could even test that a hand clamps down on his wrist and he _screams_, the pain and the numbness, the hot and the cold, and the nonsensical combination of contradictions forcing him to drop the sword. Glou Nox, Woltar, and his old (and dead, all dead) training masters would _scream_ and box his ears for the number of times he's let go of his weapon in the past thirty minutes, but now is not the time to worry about what the dead might think when the hand lets go of his wrist to trail down his body and rests… he doesn't know. _He doesn't know._ The pain is too much for him to make much sense of where the source of it all is if there even _is_ a source, and quite frankly he's beyond the point of giving a damn.

Distantly, he can hear Fittir yelling, but it doesn't seem to be getting any closer although that might be because he would barely hear it if the ox was yelling in his ear. Everything seems to be in a completely separate realm that consists of him, Romero, and mind-numbing _pain_, and he is barely coherent enough to notice as Romero stares up at him. And he does not know how he can hear Romero's voice that is death personified when he can barely hear himself _think_, the pain making his brain rattle in his skull until all he can do is _be_, and very little else beyond that.

"_A life for a life_," is all Romero says, and he wants to scream back that the bastard needs to just get it _over with_ so he can enjoy the hopefully pain-free experience of death. But of course he is not that lucky as the words echo in his head, causing more pain with every reiteration as if they are trying to carve the declaration into his skin. He can no longer keep his head up and instead he looks down, immediately wishing he hadn't when he sees that Romero's hand rather looks like it's sticking out of his abdomen. Although that might just be _because it is._

For some reason, this does not inspire any reaction from him. Instead, all he can do is blink and stare at it, but he does not seem to understand what is happening. Maybe it's because he simply doesn't have enough time, or maybe it's just that he _can't_, but it ceases to matter when Romero jerks his hand out and suddenly the pain that has temporarily suspended itself _hits_ him with a tenfold increase, and he's barely had time to appreciate it before he's flung away from the being. He barely notices as he hits the ground not less than ten feet away with a jarring blow that feels like it's broken every bone in his body, but it fades into the background of other aches and pains that might quite possibly be driving him mad.

By this point everything seems surreal now, as if he isn't actually experiencing any of what he feels but simply watching from afar. Which is stupid because he _does_ feel it; he feels the sharp, stinging pain and knows immediately that his arm—the left one, the left one, the _left_ one—is broken, and he tastes the blood in his mouth. Certainly he smells it. There's blood everywhere, and although his eyes are closed so he cannot see it he still _knows_ that it's there, but somehow none of it seems to matter even now.

Everything has gone quiet now, but he can't tell if that's because Fittir and Romero did something useful and killed each other off or if it's just because he's dying.

He can't breathe.

End Notes:  
Next chapter is the last.


	17. Final Take

_seventeen_

It takes Albel four days to wake up. By that point Cliff is a nervous wreck, although he looks better than he feels due to Mirage putting sleeping pills in his coffee. It's something she's done many a time, particularly when she feels he's been overworking himself, so he probably should have been a little suspicious when she handed him the mug. Unfortunately, he had been way too exhausted to really think the situation through until it was too late, which meant he had not remembered that key fact until he found himself pulling his face out of a puddle of drool on Albel's bed.

His first reaction upon awakening was to be angry, but he had not even been able to manage that. It might have been that despite the sleep he was still simply too tired to muster up any righteous fury, but he figures that he was probably just coherent enough to think the situation through reasonably and realize that Mirage was just helping him out. Being awake and slightly twitchy was doing favors to no one including himself, and Cliff couldn't really blame Mirage for doing something he would have done if it had been anyone else. He wasn't grateful but he could see her point, and so he had kept his mouth shut the next time she had come up with Maria to check on Albel. For her part, Mirage had not offered him any more drinks, and that was pretty much that.

Although if he is to be honest, Cliff would have to admit that he was almost wishing Mirage would drug him again when Albel's eyes suddenly open and focus on him. Most people would have gone about it a little more slowly, maybe blinking a few times, but it seems that being out of commission for four days forces Albel to react quickly, as if to make up for lost time.

And although he has been waiting for this moment for what seems like an eternity—only four days, yes, he knows, but still—Cliff finds that he has no idea what to say except the obvious, "Hey. So you're awake."

"So it would seem," Albel replies in a voice that sounds like his mouth is full of cotton. Considering how long he's been asleep, it's not exactly surprising, and it's probably why Albel says nothing else. Instead, he just stares back up at him, as if waiting for him to speak.

Which is slightly problematic, as Cliff is still failing to come up with anything vaguely intelligent to say. It's ironic, considering how Cliff had come up with a number of increasingly romantic scenarios as he had waited for Albel to wake up, but now that the time has actually come he finds himself frozen and incapable of any coherent action. He almost wishes that one of the others were here to rescue him, but they're all up at the castle dealing with the aftermath of the destruction. They had come to visit from time to time, of course, but they rarely lingered long, as if knowing he preferred to be alone. It's too late to take back that sentiment, and after a moment he finally says, "You've been asleep for the past four days."

Albel tilts his head slightly at that news, but stays quiet. To fill up the awkward silence Cliff finds himself rambling, most of it vastly incoherent. "You had a lot of injuries, you know. Blood loss, broken bones… um, and some other stuff. Even with our more advanced technology it was a close call, but you're going to be okay. It might just take a while… well, how are you feeling now? You've been healing really well but you're probably still going to be in some pain, although-"

"What happened?" Albel cuts him off quietly as he sits up. He sounds tired, and if it was anyone else, Cliff would have suggested for him to go back to sleep. He knows better than to say any such thing right now though, 'specially since he knows it'll be impossible for Albel to get any sleep without knowing exactly what's going on.

"Well… the war's over. They're doing peace talks up at the castle, although I guess they're not as much peace talks as reconstruction plans, but-"

"That's not what I want to know."

He chuckles grimly, having known that it wouldn't work. Not with Albel, anyway. "Well, can't blame a guy for trying, right? You know, you just woke up and… maybe it'll be better if…."

His voice trails off when Albel glares—nowhere near as potent as a typical Albel Nox snarl-glare, but considering the circumstances it clearly gets the point across—at him. Yeah, definitely shouldn't have bothered with trying to dodge the question, but he isn't sure how to tell Albel what needs to be said. Hell, he hasn't even completely accepted it himself, and he's had little else to do for the past few days _except_ accept it. It goes without saying that he had been hoping to put off this situation a little longer, but it seems that Albel has no interest in playing such games.

Cliff leans back in his chair, although he doesn't break eye contact with Albel as he asks, "How much do you remember? About Romero, I mean."

Albel looks discomforted by the question, as if it pains him to think about what happened. "He did something. I don't know what. He said something… something about a life for a life, but… I don't understand what that's about," he finishes abruptly.

"You killed him," Cliff reminds him.

"But he didn't _stay_ dead," Albel replies, sounding more than slightly irked by the fact.

Cliff smiles dryly, "He's a creation of the gods. Guess he had a few tricks up his sleeve that we didn't know about, but that didn't change the fact that he died. But being the king of the dead, he couldn't just die. He could take a life to replace the one he lost. That's what he meant."

Albel's face remains perfectly blank as he shrugs, the movement stiff, "Except neither of us are dead."

"Yeah, well…" Cliff pauses, unsure of how to continue. This is the moment that he had been hoping to avoid, although he knows that is simply impossible. But he doesn't know how Albel would react. Hell, he had barely known how to react when Romero had explained exactly what had happened, after he had thrown Albel away like a rag doll. He still remembers the sickening crash Albel had made when he hit the ground, although his attention had been split on the limp body and the king of the dead. Or perhaps more accurately, what Romero had pulled _out_ of Albel. "That… thing he did to you. He did take a life."

_"I would have taken his, but this will suffice. A life that is being lived is difficult for me to use. An unborn child, on the other hand, has yet to make use of its life, making it easier for me to restore what has been taken from me."_ At that point Romero had looked at him, something like anger flashing in those empty eyes. _"Make no mistake. If I could have, I would have taken the life of the one who killed me. Or I might have taken yours, the one who helped him. But this is the most pragmatic choice for me to make, regardless of any petty sentiment for revenge. It is ironic though, that the child given to him by the person he hates would save his life."_

From the look in Albel's eyes, he knows that he does not need to say what Romero had told him after Albel had passed out—that he has gone far enough. Albel is paler than he already is and he looks sick, almost like he wants to vomit. But before Cliff can get up and go to him, he turns away quickly, hands clenching the blankets as he shakes. In fear or fury or revulsion, Cliff simply cannot tell.

"I'm sorry," Cliff says, even though he knows it isn't enough. Nowhere near enough. But what else can he say right now? What else can he do? "I didn't want to-"

"Stop," Albel interrupts, still sounding as if he needs to hurl, but he still does not look over at Cliff. "Don't say anything. Do _not_ say anything else. I don't want to… I _can't_…."

Albel won't cry, not even now. He may sound like he wants to, but he won't. And although he knows it isn't the best idea he's ever had, not even close, Cliff does stand up at this. He isn't the mushy type, really he isn't, but there's something about the situation here that seems to… warrant him reaching over to Albel, ignoring the automatic recoil in order to embrace him, although how much of this is for his sake or Albel's he really isn't sure. But as the shaking slowly subsides, he realizes that it probably doesn't matter what his motivation is as long as he can be there for Albel. Even if the guy claims that it isn't necessary, it doesn't change the fact that this is what Cliff _wants_ to do, not something he needs to do. Because Albel is important to him, even if their relationship doesn't really make sense, even if nothing can ever be the same again. Considering what has happened to Albel, it seems impossible that things could _not_ change, and the very fact that Albel is _allowing_ him to do this—not pushing him away, not chewing him out, not saying _anything_ in fact but instead just staring at the wall as if slightly deadened by this all—shows how very different things will always be.

He doesn't know how long they're like that, in an awkward embrace, when Albel suddenly says with no warning, "When you leave, I'm going with you."

Cliff stares. He can't help it, although luckily Albel cannot see his slack-jawed gape of surprise since he still has not turned to face him. After a moment, he stammers, "I don't… I don't know when I'll be able to come back here. The next time. You might be stuck with me for a long time, and-"

"I don't care. I just need to get away from this place. I can't stand to be here anymore."

He has nothing to say in response to that, although he knows he shouldn't be surprised. Nowhere on Elicoor II is safe, not with Romero roaming about. It seemed that at the precise moment Albel had killed Romero, Vox's army of dead had also returned to the state they should have been if Romero had not interfered—namely, they had turned to dust, effectively ending the war since there was no one to fight anymore. The fact that they had not come back after Romero had used the life of… Vox's child in order to sustain his seems to be an indication that Romero's full strength had not returned, although Romero had indicated as much when he had disappeared. Although alive, he had been weakened, and it would take some time for him to recover his strength. But once he did, who knows what would happen? Albel would not be safe here, but then, Cliff knows that really has absolutely nothing to do with it, especially considering how Albel has yet to know anything of this current situation with Vox and his men returning to their grave and the inferences one could make from such development.

Besides, danger, Albel can deal with. He has for so very long, and he would most likely consider it a weakness to do anything else. But more than that, more than any person can be expected to bear is the memory of Vox and what has been done to him. It is already enough of a reminder, the female body that he is still trapped in, without being here as well. Although Albel did not really seem to dwell on it, his outburst prior to their encounter with Romero and his reaction now at discovering that he had been… pregnant with Vox's child is enough to show that it _had _affected him. The battle with Romero had given him something else to think about for a time, but now that it was over with, Albel has nothing left except the ugly memories of what had happened before. There are no more distractions now, nothing to keep him from remembering. And while this may be escapist, running away from reality, can anyone really blame him?

"I understand," he says. "I'll be happy to have you come with me."

At this point, Albel should have made a sarcastic or biting remark about Cliff's feelings having nothing to do with this situation. Which they probably don't. But Albel says nothing, instead continuing to stare at the wall although his body does relax slightly into the embrace. It's not much, but it's something, and it's so terribly out of character that it seems to make Cliff feel even worse about the whole thing. This isn't what he wanted, when he had decided to come down to Elicoor II. He doesn't want to see Albel like this. He's not… broken, but he isn't the same either. And it's not that Cliff needs him to be the same, but it's more that… it's because Albel has been hurt so badly. Not physically but emotionally, and considering how Albel has never been the most mentally stable guy around, that's really saying something. He had been getting better too, during their journey, and Cliff really doesn't know what to do.

But that's just something he'll have to figure out. There's not much point in worrying about it right now, as long as he knows that he will do _something_. He can't stand to see Albel like this, and although he knows Albel will probably return to his more sharp-tongued and anger management issues-self once the shock has worn off, there will always be… _this_ underlying every aspect of his life. For how long, he doesn't know, but then it probably shouldn't matter. 'Cause he'll deal with it. After all, he's handled diplomatic matters more tangled up than Albel's hair after four days of non-brushing (and that's seriously saying a _lot_, considering the state it's in right now), battled the creator of the universe, fought a creation of the gods, and dragged Albel back from the very depths of hell, all within the past year. Three of them in the past month, even.

This isn't to say that getting through this will be _easy_ because he knows it won't, but he has a hunch that after everything else, they'll manage to get through it somehow.

For now though, after everything that has happened, all he can… all he _wants_ to do is hold Albel in his arms and just be grateful that they will even have this chance at all.

_finish_

End Notes:

The title for this fic was supposed to be explained earlier, where Cliff would swear that he'd do anything for Albel, including dragging him back from hell. Unfortunately, it didn't get into this fic until… oh, the last chapter, when it really should have gotten in earlier. Oops. But seriously, this title doesn't actually have anything to do with dressing in drag; that was pretty accidental.

I don't have too many people to thank for this fic, but the few I do are exceptionally lovely. One is my friend Pinkangelsakura who, while not exceptionally lovely, did introduce me to this game (as well as getting me that cute pink kitty jacket that I was eyeing at AX, mwaha). The other is the darling Sahara Storm, who gave me all the feedback and love I needed for this story, and pushed me to make it better that it probably would have been otherwise.

I do rather love this fic. It's such a cracky concept, I know, but it accomplished things that I didn't really anticipate. I know I love a fic when the characters are able to do their own thing and develop their own stories without too much prodding from me, and especially when I can learn a thing or two about the characters in the process of the writing. That is what I love about fanficcing; maybe it's your own interpretation, but it's interesting to see how far you can go while still remaining true to the canon. I guess I can only wish that some people liked this fic nearly as much as I loved writing it. Sure, it gave me hell at times, but it was worth it.

Anyhow, not too many fics planned for Star Ocean now. There's one I definitely plan on writing (involving pirates, Albel in a dress, and appropriate amounts of ravishing) but for the most part I've moved onto Kingdom Hearts.

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August 11, 2007


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